


we'll take it slow and grow as we go

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, a dash of angst, and a sprinkling of fluff, includes domesticity, lots of takeaway, to rehabilitate missy together, twelve and river press the pause button on darillium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: He gazes at her in silence for a moment as the gravity of what has just transpired settles over him. They had just promised to guard Missy for a thousand years. “She'll need constant supervision and I don't trust anyone else to do it.” He pauses, licking his lips. “You said...You said we’ll look after her. Did you mean it?”River’s expression grows even softer as she steps closer to him, until her hand brushes his and the heat of her is enough to warm him from the inside out. “Of course I did,” she answers softly. “Together.”





	1. pick a place to rest your head

**Author's Note:**

> A prologue in four parts. I originally planned this as a series 10 rewrite with River but it sort of got away from me and became this instead. Oops. I may or may not eventually add series 10 episode rewrites to this but I figured this is a good stopping place if I never get around to it. 
> 
> Story title from the Ben Platt song. Chapter title from Hold My Girl by George Ezra. 
> 
> Happy Anniversary to my favorite married idiots.

Standing in the misty morning air on Carnathon, the Doctor buries his nose in the collar of his velvet coat and wonders what the hell he’s even doing here. He’s supposed to be in retirement. He had even made sure to spread word around the galaxy so no one would come knocking around looking for him - an admittedly vain effort to ensure that he might have twenty-four years alone with his wife. 

 

He wouldn’t even be here if River hadn’t insisted. The summons had come in the middle of their morning tea. River had been the one to answer the door, clad in nothing but his dressing gown. It had slipped down her bare shoulders and given their visitors quite a tantalizing view before the Doctor had stepped in front of her with a scowl and demanded to know who dared bother him in the one place he had declared off-limits to the rest of the universe. 

 

Darillium. 

 

Of course Missy’s executioners would be bold enough to ignore his wishes. He’d almost sent them off straight away, declaring that anything going on elsewhere in the galaxy could wait until after - well, just _after_. Secretly, he very much doubted he’d be in the mood to do anything but crawl into a dark corner and rot once all his time with River had been used up but he did his best most days not to think on that. That way led to madness. 

 

“Come back in twenty-four years,” he’d said, scowling. “I’ll answer your summons then.”

 

“Hang on, darling,” River had said, her hand soft but firm on his arm. “Let’s not be hasty.”

 

He’d stared at her, eyebrows raised. “River, if you think I’m going to swan off every time some poor bugger needs a hand-”

 

“But it’s not just some poor bugger, is it? It’s your childhood friend.” Her eyes had glittered as she smiled. “Besides, whoever said anything about you leaving without me?”

 

Standing beside him now, River looks terribly pleased with herself. She warms one of her hands in the pocket of his stolen hoodie while the other keeps a tight grip on the weapon tucked into her holster. She looks the way she always does when she gets her way - an insufferably charming cat who ate the canary. “Stop it,” he mutters under his breath, watching her smile anyway. “Smug is completely unbecoming on you.”

 

“Rule One, darling.” She winks at him. “Now be a good boy and sonic the wiring. Don’t want to accidentally execute your best friend, after all.”

 

He glances at her, startled. “How did you know I was going to-”

 

“Oh, please.” River raises an eyebrow. “I know we’ve been a tad estranged lately, darling, but I do still know you. You’re a good man, Doctor.” She smiles up at him, a softness in her eyes that forms a lump in his throat. In all his lives, no one has had such stalwart faith in him as his River. If only she’d been around when he last regenerated - would have saved him an existential crisis. “Go on then.”

 

Sonic screwdriver concealed in his sleeve, he points it toward the execution machine and the soft whirr it produces is barely noticeable as a trail of executioners shuffle past. They line up like soldiers, their faces grim and their backs ramrod straight. The Doctor bristles at the sight of them, brows furrowing together, until he feels River’s hand on his arm. He shifts closer to her gratefully, watching in silence as the man who had introduced himself as Rafando approaches. 

 

Hands clasped peaceably in front of him, he says, “Following termination, the body will be placed in a quantum fold chamber under constant guard for no less than a thousand years. In case of, shall we say, relapses.” His lips quirk. “Life can be a cunning enemy.”

 

When the Doctor only stares at him, River nods and replies, “We’ll look after her.”

 

Satisfied, Rafando smiles. “An additional stipulation of the fatality index is that the sentence must be carried out by another Time Lord.” He grimaces and the Doctor frowns at the forced sympathy. “Apologies for our choice but your people are not easy to come by.”

 

Behind them, a door creaks open. He hears Missy before he sees her, listening to her soft gasp of surprise as she steps outside and realizes who has come to oversee her end. He turns, River’s hand still on his arm, and meets her gaze. She looks tired beneath the makeup and the severe updo, unable to hide her weariness with her usual aplomb. “Doctor,” she says, letting herself be led closer. “I didn’t expect you. Thought you’d retired.” She smirks suddenly. “Domestic bliss on _Darillium_. That’s the word among the Daleks.”

 

He inclines his head, indicating the woman standing beside him and staring at Missy as though she’s a legend come to life. “For once, their gossip isn’t completely unfounded. Meet the wife.”

 

His childhood friend and his wife stare at each other in silence for a moment, River barely able to contain her curiosity and Missy not even trying to conceal her disdain. Letting go of his arm, River is the one to step forward first with a smile. “Hello, Missy. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She doesn’t seem to mind Missy’s answering silence. “I've been badgering him indoors to introduce me for centuries."

 

Missy shrugs, still eyeing her warily. "Probably wanted to keep you alive."

 

Wrinkling her nose, as though she hasn't just been threatened, River asks eagerly, "I don’t suppose you have any embarrassing childhood stories about my husband?”

 

Missy softens briefly at this, as she always does when tormenting him in some way is involved. “Oodles,” she replies, shrugging daintily. “Pity I’ll be too dead to tell them.”

 

Behind them, Rafando clears his throat pointedly. 

 

Missy rolls her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, dear, I’ve an appointment I simply can’t miss.”

 

River lets the Doctor take her hand and pull her aside. Together, they watch Missy approach the execution machine and step onto the dais. “Come on,” the Doctor mutters, tugging River with him. “Might as well have a front row seat.”

 

“The prisoner will kneel.”

 

Clearly gritting her teeth, Missy maintains eye contact with Rafando and kneels on the dais. As the Doctor and River move to stand in front of her, she glances at them and her expression shifts almost instantly. On her knees, with her executioner standing over her, the severity of the moment seems to settle over her - the reality that she is about to die and that this time, it’s very likely going to stick. 

 

The Doctor lifts his hand, curling his fingers tightly around the lever that has the power to kill her. When, in a moment of solidarity, River places her hand over his, Missy snaps. “Please,” she blurts, her eyes widening. “I’ll be good. Just let me live.”

 

Beside him, River breathes in sharply and he knows she hadn’t expected a plea for mercy. Neither had he. In all the years he has known the Master, never once has she begged for anything. He’d been fully prepared to save Missy and keep her locked away in the vault against her will. The Doctor glances at his wife and finds her already looking back at him, the look in her eyes mirroring the relief he feels. Maybe they aren’t trying to do the impossible after all. Unbeknownst to anyone else, she squeezes his fingers in silent reassurance. 

 

Sensing their hesitation and completely misinterpreting it, Missy scrambles to change their minds. “I’ll do anything you want.” She looks at River. “I’ll tell you everything - even the time he traded his sister for a pair of shoes.” She swallows, desperate eyes finding the Doctor and pinning him in place with a pleading glance. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll turn - I’ll turn good. Please.” She blinks and the Doctor stares at her, mystified by the tears welling in her eyes. “Teach me. Teach me how to be good.”

 

The Doctor refuses to look at her as he vows, “I swear to watch over this body for a thousand years.”

 

Together, he and River pull the lever. 

 

In a flash of blinding electricity, Missy collapses onto the dais and doesn’t move. Silence descends on them, only the soft ripple of nearby water and the singing of birds in the distant trees can be heard. The Doctor lets his hand drop back to his side and River laces their fingers together, squeezing encouragingly. 

 

After a moment of silence, a pair of soldiers shuffle forward to collect Missy’s corpse. The moment they touch her, she lifts her head and snarls at them. “Oi, get off.” She wrenches out of their grip. “I’ve just been executed. Show a little respect.”

 

Rafando stares. “She’s - she’s alive.”

 

Missy glowers, her gaze unfocused. “I was just a bit sleepy, all right? Let’s not split hairs. Now shut up.” Her eyes flutter as she struggles to hold onto consciousness. Letting her head drop back to rest on her arm, she sighs. “Night night.”

 

Hiding a smile, the Doctor says, “Of course she’s not dead. She’s a friend of mine.” He shrugs, exchanging a mischievous glance with River. “I may have fiddled with your wiring a bit.”

 

Stiffening in outrage, Rafando snaps, “You swore an oath. Both of you.”

 

“Actually, we swore we’d look after her body for a thousand years,” River points out, crinkling her nose. “Nobody mentioned her body had to be dead, did they, darling?”

 

“I believe they left that part out, dear.” The Doctor smirks. “Should have read the fine print.”

 

Rafando seethes. “You cannot do this. Neither of you will leave this planet alive.”

 

River sobers at once, her smile turning deadly as she takes a step forward. “Try and touch him,” she purrs. “I dare you.”

 

“Down girl,” the Doctor murmurs, eyeing Rafando. “Do me a favor. The fatality index? Look up the Doctor and River Song.”

 

He huffs, already fiddling with the computer strapped to his wrist. “You both have entries, just as any other sentient beings.”

 

“Under cause of death,” the Doctor orders. 

 

Within moments, the computer starts ticking away the results. 

 

Rafando arches an eyebrow. “You do seem to have an impressive record of fatalities between you.” His nervous smile slips off his face as the list ticks on endlessly, one after another after another. “A truly…remarkable record.”

 

The Doctor eyes him quietly.

 

Behind him, the soldiers begin to flee.

 

Rafando gapes after them. “Where are you going? He’s unarmed!” As the fatality index keeps flooding his computer, he glances uneasily at the Doctor. “You are unarmed?”

 

The Doctor nods. “Always.”

 

Standing protectively in front of him, eyes glittering dangerously, River slips her blaster from her thigh holster. “He never has to be.” She smiles. “That’s what I’m for.”

 

“Sorry about her,” the Doctor says, with a careless shrug. “You know how protective wives can be.”

 

River clicks off the safety on her weapon.

 

Rafando’s eyes widen. “Have a nice day then.”

 

As they watch, he turns and runs. 

 

“I love it when they do that.” River sighs happily, holstering her weapon once more. She whirls to face him and he rather loves how easily she can drop the persona of a cold-blooded assassin and look at him like that - so soft and adoring, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the sleeves of his hoodie falling over her wrists. “Now then, what’s next?”

 

He gazes at her in silence for a moment as the gravity of what has just transpired settles over him. They had just promised to guard Missy for _a thousand years_. “She'll need constant supervision and I don't trust anyone else to do it.” He pauses, licking his lips. “You said...You said _we’ll_ look after her. Did you mean it?”

 

River’s expression grows even softer as she steps closer to him, until her hand brushes his and the heat of her is enough to warm him from the inside out. “Of course I did,” she answers softly. “Together.”

 

He swallows roughly, his eyes already stinging as he rasps, “It’s a long time in one place.”

 

“Well it’s certainly not the twenty-four years you promised me but I’m sure I’ll find some way to live with you for a bit longer.” With a smile, River laces their hands together. And the Doctor breaks. He clutches her to his chest, cradling her to him like he holds the universe’s most precious possession and any moment, someone is going to come along and try to steal it away from him. 

 

“River,” he breathes, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her perfume as he struggles to comprehend he has just been given even more time than he thought they had. One thousand years. And after that’s done, there will still be twenty-four left on Darillium. 

 

Lifetimes. They have lifetimes together. 

 

He presses a fierce kiss to her temple and tries again. “River-” His voice breaks. “I-”

 

She tips her face toward his and leans up on her toes, her eyes shining. Her lips brush his softly and he holds her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her skin tenderly. They cling to each other there, the morning mist dampening their clothes and the certain knowledge of a future together making their smiles giddy as they embrace. “I know, darling,” she whispers when they part. “Me too.”

 

It’s another few moments before they let each other go, still holding hands as they turn to look at Missy sprawled on the dais and sleeping. “Come on,” the Doctor says, and his throat feels raw. He blinks the moisture from his eyes and smiles softly at his wife. “Let’s move her into the vault.”

 

-

 

What follows is a whirlwind of several weeks trying to set up a life for themselves. They rule out London as their home fairly quickly, River teasing him that it would be far too easy to run into all of his companions through the years if they lived there. The Doctor had grumbled but found it difficult to refute the point, flushing when River had bussed his cheek and murmured about him having a _type_. 

 

“ _You’re_ my type,” he’d mumbled in protest, annoyed at both the accusation and the way such romantic things just trip off his tongue around her. 

 

River had laughed but the comment had earned him another, far more thorough kiss. He still isn’t a fan of his traitorous tongue this go round but he thinks he can learn to live with it. 

 

Eventually, they settle on Bristol in 1948 - mostly because River had found a cushy teaching position at St. Luke’s University. From there, it simply makes sense to place the vault beneath the campus where River will be able to keep an eye on it during the day. The only thing left to give themselves the appearance of perfectly normal citizens is to find a place to live that doesn’t look like a police box. 

 

Tucked up snugly in a leather armchair in the TARDIS console room, the morning’s newspaper spread across her lap, River scans the classifieds. She makes a soft noise of interest every now and then, circling an ad in red pen before tucking it back into her hair, where it disappears entirely - swallowed by a riot of greedy curls. The Doctor, who is supposed to be looking for his own job in the paper, ignores the want ads in favor of watching River’s reading glasses slip down her nose. 

 

“You’re staring,” she observes, without taking her eyes from the paper. She circles another ad and pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. 

 

“So I am,” he says, and keeps gazing at her anyway. Not really any point in pretending. She’s far more interesting to look at than a black and white page anyway. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”

 

River lifts an eyebrow, her eyes pinning him in place over the rim of her glasses. “Oh?”

 

“You’re the most fascinating thing in any room, dear.” He smirks, watching her blink at him in surprise. “You should be used to staring by now.”

 

She shakes her head and he relishes the surprised, delighted smile that curves her lips before she can hide it. “From others, maybe, but not you.” At his frown, she sighs. “Sorry to disillusion you, darling, but you never paid so much attention before.”

 

“Well that was very stupid. I’m trying not to be stupid this go round.” He grins when she laughs, abandoning his newspaper entirely to lean forward with his elbows on his knees. In a conspiratorial whisper, he asks, “How’s it going so far?”

 

Biting her lip against a smile, River gazes at him with glittering eyes and flushed cheeks. “You’re doing all right,” she murmurs. “Shall I let you know if you slip up?”

 

“Please.” He tosses the newspaper aside and winks at her. “So, what’ve you got, Professor Song?”

 

She brightens, turning back to the paper. “Listen to this one - three bedrooms, two baths, spacious kitchen, and a garden in the rear. Located on Marston Road in Bristol.”

 

The Doctor listens closely, tapping his fingers against his knee with a frown. “What do we need three bedrooms for?”

 

River shrugs. “Well, one for us obviously. Maybe we can use the other two as separate studies.”

 

His frown only deepens at that. “Why can’t we just share one?”

 

“Darling,” she says patiently, a sigh in her voice. “It’s a thousand years. Trust me, you’ll be grateful to have your own space in a few decades.”

 

He harrumphs, very much doubting that, but willing to agree to whatever is going to please her and get her to stop looking at that damned newspaper and start paying attention to him instead. “Whatever you say, dear.”

 

River tilts her head and he stares helplessly as a naughty smile begins to curl her mouth. He holds his breath, bracing himself to fight back the blush he knows is coming the moment she opens her mouth. “We could always use the extra room to store the whips and handcuffs, if you like.”

 

Glowering, he clears his throat and says, “That won’t be necessary.” At River’s pout, he arches an eyebrow. “I know you prefer an old-fashioned spanking.”

 

She smirks. “Who says the whip is for me?”

 

He swallows. “Well-”

 

Laughing softly, River abandons her newspaper and the chair where she sits. She crosses the space between them and sinks onto his lap instead, her arms winding loosely around his neck as she leans in and brushes her nose playfully against his. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re far too pretty to damage.”

 

The Doctor stares at her, caught between astonishment and the desire to preen under her attention. “My last body, maybe,” he admits, shrugging. “But this old thing-”

 

“Fishing has never been your sport, Doctor.” River cradles his cheek in her palm, smiling tenderly. “But I’ll have you know, I find you a very _fetching_ old thing.”

 

He barely manages to bite back his grin, feeling it tug unrelentingly at his lips. “Yeah?”

 

She hums, mouth against his cheek and her fingers toying with his hair. “Oh _yes_.”

 

With a shudder, the Doctor traces a fingertip up her spine and breathes out. A vain attempt to regain control of his hearts - pounding at the cage of his ribs, eager to leap out of his chest and fall at her feet. “Well,” he manages hoarsely, turning his head to find her warm mouth with his own. “That’s all right then.”

 

In the end, they go have a look at the house. The Doctor doesn’t much care where they live so long as they’re living there together but he dutifully follows River and an overeager realtor around the house and pretends to be interested in the marble countertops, hardwood floors, and crown moldings. He will grudgingly admit to admiring the exterior brick and elegant windows reminiscent of a Victorian townhouse but he could live with River in a woodshed and be quite content. 

 

It’s only as the realtor brings them upstairs, stands in the doorway of one of the spare rooms, and drops excessive, heavy-handed hints about a nursery that the reality of the situation nearly brings the Doctor to his knees. He and River are buying a house. It’s so terribly normal and human that a lump forms in his throat and absolutely nothing he does will get rid of it for the rest of the tour. 

 

He pictures them in the master bedroom, watching the sun come up from their bed, curled up beneath the blankets with tea and bare skin pressed together as they stare sleepily out those big windows along the wall. He sees himself making her breakfast in the kitchen, sees her joining him wearing only one of his shirts as she nibbles on her bacon and frowns until he hands her a mug of coffee. He sees them tucked away in the study, curled up in front of the fire with books and tangled hands. He sees River out in the garden tending to her begonias and the little herb garden she’s always wanted, barefoot and wearing one of those big straw hats to protect her ferocious hair from the sun. 

 

They’re going to build a life here. A real, wonderfully human and brilliantly long life. 

 

Together. 

 

River slips her hand into his as they walk away from the house and down the street, turning to look at him with shining eyes. “What did you think, darling?”

 

The Doctor clears his throat but the damnable lump remains, his voice hoarse as he replies, “I think it’s perfect.”

 

-

 

By the time they move in, it’s time to wake Missy. While they’d agreed sedating her until they were settled was the best option, neither of them is looking forward to her tantrum once she figures out where she is - namely in a quantum fold chamber beneath St. Luke’s University with the Doctor and his wife for minders. 

 

With this unpleasantness in mind, they stall. They roam through a few antique shops looking for furniture to fill the vault and make it feel less like a prison. They take a trip to the 21st century and fill a shopping cart with Rocky Road ice cream, chocolate biscuits, enough tea to last several months, and some trashy gossip rags to keep her entertained for a while. The Doctor picks up a few books from a shop in Covent Garden, though he knows his old friend will turn up her nose at human literature at first glance. He also knows eventually, she’ll be bored enough to read them. River insists on some decent bedding as well, walking out of John Lewis with enough pillows and soft sheets to make the bed in the vault look positively decadent. 

 

Once there’s nothing else to do but deal with Missy’s inevitable hissy fit, the Doctor glances around the vault with a frown. The bed is piled high with pillows, the bookcases along one wall are stuffed with human literature, the space next to the gramophone is stacked precariously with records, and there’s enough chocolate in the kitchen to sustain an army of human teenage girls. “Did we go a bit overboard?”

 

In the middle of stirring milk into a cup of tea, River doesn’t even look up. “She’s going to be stuck here for centuries, sweetie. She might as well be comfortable.”

 

It’s logic he can’t argue with so he sighs and sinks into one of the armchairs they’d found in a secondhand shop - somehow both Edwardian and comfortable at the same time. Across from him, Missy is sprawled on the antique settee with her dark hair in disarray and her mouth open as she sleeps. She hasn’t moved an inch since they lifted her from the floor and onto the new furniture, aside from the occasional twitch, but he knows the sedative has to be wearing off by now. He watches her closely, bracing himself for the moment she wakes. 

 

Whatever she’d said when she was about to die, he knows better than to hold her to it. He’d learned a long time ago not to trust a single word that slipped from the Master's forked tongue. He barely nods his thanks when River hands him his tea, brushing his fingers against hers in quiet gratitude. She bends close and leaves a lingering kiss to his temple before moving away, settling on the edge of the settee beside Missy. 

 

The Doctor stiffens instantly, fingers curling tight around the warm ceramic of his mug. There’s something about the sight of the person he loves most sitting so close to the person who finds such joy in destroying beautiful things that makes his stomach lurch with dread. Showing none of his reserve, River waves the other mug of tea beneath Missy’s nose and waits. Missy stirs almost at once, the steam from the cup and the comforting scent of English Breakfast drawing her slowly from unconsciousness. The Doctor barely breathes, waiting. 

 

Her eyes snap open. She tenses instantly at the sight of River looming over her, her eyes narrowing dangerously. While he knows River is perfectly capable of handling the likes of even Missy, the last thing he wants is for these two to get off on the wrong foot. He’s fairly certain Missy trying to strangle River would accomplish just that. He clears his throat. Eyes flickering over River’s shoulder, Missy spots him instantly. Her lips purse and she sighs through her nose, relaxing into the cushions again. 

 

Apparently satisfied she isn’t going to be forced to stun the other woman with her blaster, River offers her the tea and says, “I had a feeling you like yours black.”

 

“As my hearts,” Missy grumbles, pushing herself into a sitting position. She carefully tucks her disheveled hair behind her ears and eyes the mug of steaming tea still held in River’s grasp. With the cautious movements of a king’s taste tester, she accepts the mug from River and wraps her cold hands around it. 

 

River moves away at once to give her some space, perching on the arm of the Doctor’s chair. He curls a hand over her knee, keeping his eyes pinned on Missy as he waits for the inevitable row over keeping her locked away. Though for now she seems far more concerned with the tea River had given her, sniffing at it experimentally, as though trying to detect poison. “How do you feel?”

 

She sighs, the sound sluggish and defeated. There is weariness in every move she makes, a careful sort of fragility he has never seen in her before and doesn’t care for now. For as long as he can remember, Koschei has always been larger than life, full of exhausting energy and a lust for trouble. It’s what had drawn him to her when they were children. Despite the years and betrayal between them now, it still pains him to see her slumped on the settee in her rumpled clothes. Her dark hair is in tangles down her back and her faded lipstick has smeared, leaving a red stain at the corner of her mouth. It’s a bit pathetic, like looking at a toppled dictator.

 

“Just swell,” she finally answers, her voice rough from days of disuse. Apparently deciding to risk poisoning, she sips cautiously at the tea River had given her. Her fingertips are white against the dark purple ceramic as she grips the mug in her hands. “I haven’t had a hangover like this since I partied with Rasputin in the seventies.”

 

“Grigori Rasputin?” River frowns. “Wasn’t he assassinated in the early 1900s?”

 

The ghost of a smirk curls Missy’s mouth. “Was he?”

 

River laughs softly. “Oh, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

 

The Doctor watches them eye each other speculatively and wonders with a faint sense of horror just what he has managed to get himself into. In his mind, he’d always imagined River and Missy would get along about as well as cats and dogs. He’d pictured name-calling, hair-pulling, and maybe an attempted murder. As relieved as he is that they’re apparently going to be civil, he can’t help but fear what chaos an eventual alliance between them might bring.

 

More worrying even than his wife and his childhood friend teaming up to make his life interesting, there is the strange peace in Missy’s eyes as she sips at her tea. She hasn’t thrown a fit yet, hasn’t made one remark about being a kept pet. There isn’t even a flicker of panic in her placid features. She looks tired and she keeps rubbing at her temple, trying to soothe the headache the sedative had given her but she isn’t trying to fight them. The Doctor sits stiff and waiting, tensed for her next move. 

 

“Stop it,” she murmurs, her sharp gaze landing briefly on him. 

 

He blinks at her, brow furrowing. “Stop what?”

 

“Waiting for me to snap.” She tilts her head, glancing between him and River calmly. “I asked for this, remember?”

 

The Doctor swallows, shifting uneasily. “People have been known to say things they don’t mean when they’re about to die.”

 

“I don’t.” She sips at her tea again, slurping at it noisily just to make him twitch. 

 

He clears his throat, his grip on River’s knee tightening briefly. She rests her fingertips against the back of his neck, her nails scraping gently into his hair. It takes all of his willpower not to melt gratefully into her soothing touch. He strokes his thumb over her thigh in silent thanks, forcing the words from his mouth. “So when you said you want to be friends again, you-”

 

“Meant it,” Missy interrupts, avoiding his gaze. “Yes.”

 

He breathes in, refusing to let his face show how much he wants the same thing. She’s given him false hope too many times for him to ever fall for it again. He won’t be left standing in the wake of her destruction, wondering why he ever believed a word she said. “I’m not letting you step one foot out of this vault for a thousand years.”

 

Missy stiffens, her eyes closing briefly. “I know.”

 

The Doctor stares at her, bewildered by the relief evident on her face - like a neglected child comforted in being relegated to time out, just to have a moment of attention. The notion of it makes his throat tighten and he looks away, focusing on the gentle sweep of River’s fingers across the nape of his neck. 

 

“You’re a danger to the universe, Koschei,” he says, and his voice comes out kinder and softer than he had meant for it to. The sound of it makes her lift her eyes from the floor. “I can’t in good conscience set you loose on the galaxy until you know how to be - until you _want_ to be…good.”

 

Missy stares at him, pale and glassy-eyed, gripping her cooling mug of tea. Silence settles between them for a long moment as he watches her, curled up in her wrinkled dress on the settee. Finally, she forces a weak smile and says with a shrug, “So teach me.”


	2. my heart goes to its feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you knew how many times I believed there might be hope for her only to be disappointed-” He pauses with a sigh. “I don’t even know if she’s capable of change.”
> 
> “Everyone is capable of change, sweetie.” River takes his hand in hers and he opens his eyes to watch her kiss his knuckles. “Surely you know that better than anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Would That I by Hozier.

They park the TARDIS in the garden, slowly migrating their belongings from the ship into their new house. River doesn’t have much, her upbringing with Kovarian and the subsequent years in prison having taught her not to prize material possessions. Most of her things consist of clothes, shoes, and books. The Doctor, on the other hand, is a bit of a packrat and he’s had centuries to curate his collection. Or at least that’s what River likes to tease him as they carry out box after box of his stuff. 

 

“What’s mine is yours,” he shoots back, watching the pleased smile curl her lips as she turns away and feeling guilt and fondness curl up in his stomach. Fondness because it’s so easy to make her happy and guilt because it shouldn’t be. “All this rubbish belongs to you too, you know.”

 

She shakes her head and crinkles her nose at him, settling a box of his sheet music on her hip. “I don’t remember anything in our vows about cherishing your stamp collection, sweetie.”

 

“Just me then?” He asks, trying not to sound too needy and failing anyway. Sod it, there’s no one to hear him but River and he’s fairly sure she doesn’t mind. 

 

She smiles then, the sunlight slanting in from their bedroom windows and setting her curls alight. Their eyes meet from across the room and suddenly his hearts feel too full. “Just you,” she replies, and turns away still grinning. 

 

When they return from seeing Missy that night, the Doctor is restless and absolutely terrible about hiding it. He paces as River finishes shelving her books in the study, organizing them not alphabetically but in order of preference. A slim volume of alien poetry he’d given her for an anniversary next to Lady Chatterly’s Lover, before Gone With The Wind but after The Time Traveler’s Wife. 

 

She doesn’t point out his constant movement, though he knows the creak of the floorboards under his boots must be grating on her nerves. They’ve been married long enough that she must know something is bothering him but she says nothing about that either, waiting patiently for him to come to her. His wife never pushes. He rather loves that about her. 

 

What she does do, however, is shove a handful of takeout menus at him and demand he do something about dinner. He barely reads through them and doesn’t comment about most of these places existing about fifty years in the future. He just picks one at random and dials using the mobile that also won’t exist for quite some time. It’s only after someone answers that he realizes he’s picked a Thai restaurant from 2015. He’ll have to hop into the TARDIS and pick it up when they’re ready to eat. 

 

While his mind wanders elsewhere, he orders one of everything and hangs up. He tosses the mobile onto River’s desk and goes back to mindless pacing and it’s then that his wife finally sighs and glances reproachfully over her shoulder. “We’re going to be eating leftovers for weeks.”

 

He shrugs. “That just means we don’t have to go out.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Any particular reason you want to keep me inside, darling?”

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He smirks, drawn briefly from his preoccupation. “You know I hate grocery shopping.”

 

“Sorry, Doctor, but you’re going to have to get used to living as a mere mortal.” River tucks away the last of her books onto a shelf and rises from her crouch, dusting off her trousers. “That includes a run to the grocer’s for milk at ungodly hours.”

 

He huffs impatiently and doesn’t really mean it, his fingertips itching until she’s close enough to drag into him by the hips. She molds against him perfectly and the mere proximity of her soothes him. The buzzing in his head eases and he can breathe again without his throat closing up. She’s like his own personal worry stone - all he has to do is touch her and nothing bad can reach him. Stroking the curve of her hip with his fingers, he ducks his head and brushes his mouth against her own. 

 

River leans up on her toes with a quiet hum of pleasure, her hands sneaking beneath his hoodie to press against his back. The warmth of her small hands steals his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth over hers, tasting honey on his tongue from her tea. With a soft moan, she arches against him and curls her fingers into his back. Her nails dig into his skin and he nips at her lip, hands sliding from her hips to grip her rear and squeeze. She laughs into his mouth, refusing to budge when he tries to tug her in the direction of their bedroom. 

 

“River,” he breathes, her name slipping from his lips like a plea. 

 

She strokes her soft hands over the nail marks she’s left along his spine and shakes her head, tipping her head back to look at him. Her eyes are dark and wide but still soft, still patient. Still waiting for him to tell her what’s on his mind. “I’m going to take a bath,” she says, and slips from his arms. 

 

He stares after her, feeling bereft even as he pictures his naked wife climbing into the clawfoot tub. “But-”

 

Glancing over her shoulder, her gaze warm and inviting, she asks, “Joining me?”

 

They undress each other in their new bathroom, trading lazy kisses as warm hands stroke bare skin. He’s flushed and aroused by the time they sink into the steaming water together but the heat of the bath loosens his limbs almost at once. Without a word, River hands him a bottle of shampoo and he helps her wash her hair just as he used to do in his last body. He soaks her curls, running his fingers through her tangled hair and lathering shampoo into her scalp with practiced movements. The perfumed scent fills the air and he feels the rest of the tension leave him as he focuses on her. 

 

He keeps his every move soft and tender, relishing River’s quiet sighs of pleasure and the way her body sinks into his hands like she might melt entirely if he didn’t hold her up. He hums as he works, massaging her scalp and washing away the suds with warm water cupped between his hands. Bubbles sluice down her slippery back and the Doctor trails his fingertips over her skin, washing the rest of it away gently. 

 

When he’s through, River turns in his arms and returns the favor. She hovers over him on her knees, running her fingers through his wild hair with a gentleness most never see from her. The Doctor closes his eyes, blissfully lost under the touch of her competent, familiar hands. He watches her from beneath his lashes, admiring the softness of her smile and the lush curve of her breast against his cheek whenever she leans in close. They don’t speak at all, neither of them truly needing words in the middle of such an intimate act as this.

 

After, River reclines between his legs with her back against his chest, her hands on his thighs and her damp hair tickling his cheek. He can smell her lavender soap and even now the taste of her still lingers in his mouth. The Doctor kisses the back of her neck, feeling drunk on her. 

 

“She was my best friend,” he finally confesses, the words spilling out in the relaxed, contented quiet lingering between them. “She was… _brilliant_. A proper genius, cleverer than me even. We went everywhere together, took all our classes together at the Academy. I was there when her daughter was born. She was godfather to my children. We were going to see the universe together.”

 

“I know,” she whispers, and her hand curls over his knee beneath the water. “And maybe you still can.”

 

He turns his head and buries his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Don’t,” he pleads. “If you knew how many times I believed there might be hope for her only to be disappointed-” He pauses with a sigh. “I don’t even know if she’s capable of change.”

 

“Everyone is capable of change, sweetie.” River takes his hand in hers and he opens his eyes to watch her kiss his knuckles. “Surely you know that better than anyone.”

 

He smiles grimly, forcing levity into his voice. “That’s true. I did marry my bespoke assassin.”

 

She hums, turning his hand over to press her lips to each of his fingertips. “And you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

 

“Some parts more than others,” he mutters, shifting against her to ease the ache for her that hasn’t lessened under her attentions. He feels her smirk against his palm. “But I didn’t change you, River. You clawed your way out from under Kovarian and the Silence and you did it without any help from me.” Even thinking of it now makes pride swell in his chest, knowing how hard she had fought for her freedom. “My brave wife.”

 

River turns her head, a smile curling her mouth, and accepts the warm kiss he brushes tenderly across her cheek. “You couldn’t save me,” she agrees quietly. She reaches around, cupping the back of his neck to keep him close. “But without you…I’m not sure I would have wanted to save myself. You made me question everything I’d ever known. You showed me there was another path to take.” She smiles softly. “And you held my hand while I walked it.”

 

He sighs, still trying to stem the flow of hope her words produce before it floods through him and overtakes common sense. Fitting his chin over her shoulder, he asks, “You really think we can do this? Make her a good person?”

 

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, sweetie,” she cautions. 

 

“But…”

 

“I don’t think you’ll ever be closer to having your friend back than you are now.” River bites her lip. “She wants to change but she doesn’t know how. She’s going to need a hand to hold.”

 

The Doctor nods slowly, a lump in his throat. Why he insists on stewing on his own when River always knows how to make everything better, he’ll never know. “All right,” he rasps. “Then she’ll have mine.”

 

“And mine,” she promises. 

 

He loves her for how easily the oath slips past her lips. He loves her for a lot of things but perhaps none so much as how firmly at his side she always is, how fiercely she guards him and the people he loves. He nearly tells her just that but River kisses his hand again and he feels a naughty smile against his skin as she nuzzles his palm. His stomach tightens and he remembers all too suddenly that he’s naked in the bath with his wife flushed and slippery beneath his hands. 

 

“Now, Doctor,” she says. “I’ve never known you to be a man who wastes an opportunity.”

 

“Oh?” He arches an eyebrow and slips his hand from hers, pressing it just over her hearts. The feel of them thudding eagerly at his touch makes him hide a smile in her hair. “And what opportunity is that?”

 

As he ducks his head to kiss her bare shoulder, River says, “Well if you don’t know, darling, then perhaps I should go find another regeneration. Number eight was quite a specimen. And he’d certainly know what to do with me in a bath-”

 

He cuts her off with a sharp nip to the side of her neck and River laughs as he wraps his arms around her and tugs her firmly against him. “None of that,” he rumbles, letting his fingertips follow a droplet of water trickling down her breast. “You’re stuck with number twelve, I’m afraid.”

 

“Pity,” she murmurs, a smile in her voice. 

 

She tilts her head to the side and hums as he mouths at her damp skin, watching with avid interest as his fingers brush teasingly at her nipple before dipping lower. He caresses her stomach, gazing over her shoulder to stare in fascination at the way the muscles in her abdomen contract at his touch. He hovers just over the dark curls between her thighs, swallowing roughly. “River-”

 

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathes, arching into him. 

 

He kisses her shoulder again, his tongue slipping out to taste her skin. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises, stroking his fingers through wiry curls. Even submerged in steamy bathwater, the heat radiating from between her legs is enough to make his mouth water. He cups her in the palm of his hand and listens to the way her breathing hitches as she bucks into him. She throbs at his touch like he has his fingers on her pulse, the very place where her life blood flows. 

 

With a needy sigh, River parts her thighs for him and draws up her knees, a wordless demand for him to get on with it. The Doctor hasn’t lived so long for nothing. His survival instinct has been fine-tuned and that includes knowing better than to try River’s patience when she’s turned on. He strokes her with his fingertips, smirking wickedly against the shell of her ear when she trembles against him and makes the water around them ripple. “Look at that,” he murmurs. “You’re all wet.”

 

She huffs but the sound comes out more like a frustrated moan and he wishes he could see her face, the way her cheeks flush and her eyes glitter. He wishes they were in the comfort of their bed so he could spread her out beneath him and simply gaze at her until he can map her body by the placement of each freckle, like stars in the sky. He thumbs lightly at her clit and when she throws her head back against his shoulder and swears, he aches with a need so desperate only she can alleviate. No one, in all his centuries, has ever made him _yearn_ the way River can with only a breathy gasp in his ear. 

 

“Doctor,” she whispers, her fingertips digging into his thighs. “Please-”

 

“Hush now.” He brushes his lips across the nape of her neck, wisps of damp curls tickling his nose. “Patience is a virtue, wife.”

 

“So is not killing one’s husband,” she snaps, though any bite the words might have carried is drained away when he strokes her again roughly. “Sweetie-”

 

He takes his time despite her pleas, determined to christen their new bathroom properly. Circling her entrance again and again, he draws out her wetness until the air around them smells not of lavender scented soap but of sex and sweat. River writhes against him and by the time he slips a finger inside her, her inner muscles flutter wildly, gripping him in the tight heat of her. His breath catches. “Christ, River. You’re-”

 

She turns her head, her breath hot against his skin. “ _Yes_.”

 

The Doctor buries his face in her hair, stretching her open as River makes a strangled noise on the verge of a sob. She’s so wet his fingers glide through her like water and the feel of her tight and hot around him makes it difficult to remember his own name. The most dangerous man in the universe, with the most deadly knowledge in the universe, and he can’t even remember what it is with River burning like a sun in his arms. 

 

Every shuddering breath, every soft cry she makes is like pouring gasoline on a fire and when she starts to rock her hips against his hand it’s all he can do to keep breathing. He curls his fingers deeper now, rubbing that place inside her that always makes her scream. This time is no different and he relishes the hoarse shout to the heavens, the way it echoes off the bathroom walls and makes even the water tremble. 

 

The view he has of her over her shoulder is stunning - River Song flushed pink and glistening, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub and onto the floor but it’s difficult to care about that when River moans so prettily. She has no teasing words for him now, the innuendo always waiting on the tip of her talented tongue has vanished, and her brilliant mind is focused on only one thing - chasing the orgasm just out of her reach. 

 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. Her nails dig into his thighs and her moans have reached a fever pitch; a sweet, desperate melody that fills the air between them. “My bad, bad girl.”

 

River cries out as she comes, her body clenching violently around his questing fingers. He strokes her gently through her orgasm, staring with quiet wonder at the exquisite pleasure he can manage to wring from someone as strong and brilliant as his wife. He holds her as she trembles, feeling her whispered words as surely as if they were imprinting themselves on his hearts. _Sweetie_ , _darling_ , _Doctor_. 

 

Slowly, he slides his fingers from her and wraps himself tightly around her in the cooling water. Pressing a soft kiss to her temple as she pants against him, boneless and still shaking, he asks, “How’s that for seizing an opportunity?”

 

River laughs breathlessly, turning in his arms and unsettling more water in the process. Glassy-eyed and with damp curls sticking to her flushed cheeks, she leans in to kiss him thoroughly and murmurs, “Oh shut up.”

 

-

 

Though they try to visit Missy every other day, it’s a struggle to draw a line between giving her the space she needs and making sure she doesn’t feel neglected. Some days, however, the Doctor is convinced she’d be pleased if they never came back at all. She’s in one of her moods today - belligerent, rude, and frustratingly uncooperative. He knows being confined can’t be easy for her but it’s difficult to cling to his patience when she’s snarling at River and pushing her teacup off the table just to watch the china shatter. 

 

To his unending surprise, River is entirely unruffled when she’s like this; almost indulgent, like a long-suffering mother dealing with her troublesome child. It’s far preferable to the Doctor’s usual solution to Missy’s antics, which is to snap at her and storm out until they’ve both calmed down. River is _brilliant_ \- ignoring Missy’s muttered complaints, smiling in the face of insults, and cracking jokes about her sour mood. She’s patient in a way the Doctor hadn’t expected. He doesn’t know why; River has always dealt with _him_ far more gracefully than he ever deserved. 

 

She steps over the broken teacup Missy has just shattered with only a gently scolding look that earns her a glower in reply. “Like a tetchy cat, you are,” she mutters, and wanders to the supply cupboard across the room. She disappears inside. The Doctor and Missy spend a long moment eyeing each other reproachfully before she reappears with a broom and a dustpan. She holds out both to Missy, eyebrows raised. 

 

Missy stares balefully back at her. “What exactly do you expect me to do with that?”

 

“Don’t tell me a clever girl like you doesn’t know what to do with a broom?” River tsks, still holding it out expectantly. “I’ll teach you if you like but I’m certainly not taking you to A&E for stitches if you step in the glass later.”

 

With a tight-lipped smile, Missy demurs, “The only one who’s going to be needing stitches is you, half-breed, particularly if you don’t get that primitive stick out of my face.”

 

Stiffening at the derogatory term, the Doctor opens his mouth to snap at her but one quelling look from River quiets him before he can begin. He shuts his mouth again, clenching his teeth as he silently fumes. His only comfort is that River’s way tends to produce better results than his if he can just manage to hold his tongue long enough to let her work. 

 

River shrugs, setting aside the broom. “Suit yourself then.” She tilts her head, eyeing Missy speculatively. “You’re particularly disagreeable this morning. Would you like us to leave you alone today?”

 

Missy sneers at her, curled up like a child on the settee with her legs tucked beneath her skirts. “I’d like you to let me out.”

 

“All right then.” River walks away from her, perching on the arm of the Doctor’s chair. With a wave of her hand and a serene smile, she gestures to the vault door. “Go on. We won’t stop you.”

 

_The hell they won’t_. The Doctor makes a strangled noise of protest but River quiets him with a gentle hand on his arm. She doesn’t take her gaze off Missy, her eyes narrowed dangerously as the dark-haired woman frowns at her. 

 

“It’s not a trick,” she vows. “Cross my hearts.” She does just that, marking an _x_ over each of them with a fingertip. Missy flinches at the motion like a startled bird. “This is a mutual arrangement, Missy. You’re free to go whenever you like. None of us are operating under the delusion you couldn’t break out any time you fancy it anyway.”

 

Missy keeps staring at her, her mouth firming into a grim line and her eyes narrowing into slits. The Doctor realizes perhaps a little belatedly - bloody hell, he’s getting slow in his old age - that River has issued his best friend a challenge. If she’s going to keep being such a foul-tempered brat about the whole thing then it’s an entirely pointless exercise. But if she’d meant what she said - if she truly wanted to change and gain his trust again - then she’d have to prove it. Starting now.

 

River waits silently for an answer, her passive expression giving nothing away. For a long moment, Missy doesn’t move and the Doctor wonders if she’s about to try to get up and walk right past them out into the universe. Finally, she uncrosses her arms and lifts her chin, meeting River’s unwavering gaze with her own chilly one. She nods once, stiffly. 

 

Relaxing instantly, River’s eyes grow warm as she says, “Good choice.”

 

Missy bristles. “Sorry to disappoint, mutt, but I’m not doing it for your approval.”

 

“Watch it,” the Doctor warns, unable to help himself this time. 

 

She blinks at him, as though she’d forgotten he was there. 

 

River only swats at him, apparently as unbothered as ever. “I don’t think you’re doing this for anyone’s approval. You’re doing this because being bad hasn’t worked out quite how you’d hoped and being good doesn’t look as lonely.” 

 

Missy says nothing but her silence is damning all the same. 

 

“You want to know the first step to being good?” River arches a pointed brow. “Cleaning up the messes you make.”

 

Missy glares at her defiantly but to the Doctor’s complete astonishment, she climbs to her feet with a grumbling sigh and snatches up the broom River had abandoned. As she starts sweeping up the glass from her shattered teacup, the Doctor stares at her in bewildered silence. Out of the corner of his mouth, he mutters to his wife, “You’re a sodding genius.”

 

With a soft laugh, she leans in and kisses his cheek. “I know,” she whispers. “But this was all you, Doctor.”

 

He shakes his head. “Me? You’re the one who just performed a miracle on par with turning water into wine.”

 

Smiling against his temple, River says, “I’m just following in your footsteps, darling. When I was Mels and had no idea what I wanted, you gave me a choice over and over again. It wasn’t easy for me but you were so patient then, when I didn’t know if I wanted to slit your throat while you slept or sit on your pretty face.”

 

He flushes a bit, grumbling under his breath as she pets his hair. “I’m still not entirely sure you’ve made up your mind.”

 

“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying to maintain a bit of mystery.” She laughs when he rolls his eyes, turning to watch Missy sweep up the remaining bits of glass. “Now, who wants more tea?”

 

As she slips away from him and moves past Missy on her way to the kettle, everything seems to happen all at once. The broom drops to the floor with a clatter. Missy whirls, gripping a shard of glass in her fist, and lunges for River. The blow is aimed at her face but River sidesteps it easily, catching Missy’s wrist in her firm grip. She twists her arm and Missy sprawls at her feet, blinking up at her dazedly. 

 

It all happens so quickly the Doctor doesn’t have time to do anything more than leap to his feet and take a step toward them. He stares in bewilderment as River, her knee to Missy’s throat to keep her from lunging again, reaches calmly into her utility belt and pulls out a syringe. The tranquilizers they keep on hand - just in case. 

 

Missy snarls, her eyes wild. “Get your disgusting hands off me, half-blood scum.”

 

The Doctor moves quickly to her side, dropping to his knees next to her as River injects the sedative into Missy’s arm. They sit there, barely breathing, until Missy’s glaring eyes slip shut and she goes limp beneath River’s tense grip. Her hand unclasps and the glass shard she’d been gripping slips from her fingers. And it’s over. River hadn’t broken a sweat. She isn’t even breathing heavily as she puts away the syringe and climbs slowly to her feet, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

 

“Well, so much for miracles.” She sighs, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder. “Sweetie?”

 

It’s only the concern laced in her voice that makes him realize he’s shaking. Not because he’s afraid. River has always been perfectly capable of handling herself. It comes with the territory when she’s been trained to kill Time Lords since she could toddle. Not even someone as clever as Missy could best her. He’s shaking because he’s angry. No, _furious_. He’d trusted Missy around the most important person in the universe to him. And she’d repaid that trust by trying to hurt her in a fit of childish pique. 

 

The Doctor clenches his teeth together, blinking away the red haze in front of his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, covering River’s hand with his own. “Let’s get her to bed.”

 

Once they have her settled, he sends River to pick up some takeaway for the three of them. If she knows it’s because he doesn’t want her around when Missy wakes up, she doesn’t say. She only squeezes his hand and casts him a worried glance on her way out. He makes himself comfortable in a chair beside Missy’s bed, staring fixedly at his hands until they finally stop trembling. 

 

When Missy begins to stir, the words tumble out of his mouth - calm and cold, quietly furious. “If you ever think of harming my wife again, I’ll leave you alone in this vault for the rest of your sentence and make sure you’ve no hope of escaping.” He swallows, watching her turn her head sluggishly toward the sound of his voice. “If she gets so much as a paper cut while in your company, I won’t stop until I find a way to drop this entire quantum chamber into a black hole.”

 

Missy blinks at him and he suspects she’s not entirely lucid yet. 

 

Leaning in close, the Doctor meets her gaze steadily. He lowers his voice, making certain she’s listening. “You want to throw a temper tantrum like you’re in your first century, that’s fine. But my wife is off limits. Do we understand each other?”

 

She stares at him blearily for a long moment, apparently trying to either digest his words or decide if he’s serious. Eventually, she nods once. 

 

“Good.” The Doctor leans back in his chair, sinking into the cushions. “When she gets back, you’re going to apologize.”

 

“Yes,” she murmurs, sounding tired. “Fine.”

 

He sighs, watching her struggle to push away the effects of the sedative. “Why did you do that, Missy?”

 

She shrugs, glancing away. “She started it.”

 

Shaking his head, the Doctor leans his elbows on his knees and orders, “Try again.”

 

Missy frowns. “I was bored.”

 

“No,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Again.”

 

“I don’t know, all right?” She snaps, casting him a weary glance. “It just happened. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

 

The Doctor stares at her, eyes narrowed, and finally decides she’s actually telling him the truth for once. “Did you black out at all?”

 

“No.” She fidgets, toying with the blanket River had tucked around her. “It was just…instinct. Like reaching up to touch your hair after you’ve cut it, expecting it’ll still be there.” She picks viciously at a snag in the threading, pulling until it starts to unravel. “I don’t think I can do this, Doctor. I don’t know how to be good.”

 

Staring at her, huddled in bed and still soft-eyed from the drugs coursing through her system, the Doctor feels the last of his anger with her slip away. Damn her. She’s always made it so bloody difficult to stay as rightfully furious with her as he should be. Sometimes it’s a bit like being angry at a puppy for weeing on the carpet when the poor thing just doesn’t know any better. 

 

Leaning forward once more, the Doctor lays a hand over hers. “You can learn.”

 

She snorts delicately. “That’s easy for you to say, honey. You’ve always been nauseatingly heroic. How can you possibly know whether someone like me can learn?”

 

“Because I did.”

 

They both turn at the sound of River’s voice in the doorway. She stands there, laden down with takeaway bags, and smiles hesitantly at Missy. Though she stiffens at the sight of her, Missy tilts her head in silent invitation. When the Doctor clears his throat pointedly, she flinches. 

 

“Sorry,” she bites out, grimacing like the word has left a sour taste in her mouth. 

 

“Don’t mention it.” River wrinkles her nose, as embarrassed to have to accept the apology as Missy had been to give it. The Doctor holds in a sigh. Hopeless, the both of them. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” 

 

“No.” Missy swallows, meeting her gaze reluctantly. “It will be.”

 

At the certainty in her voice, River glances curiously at the Doctor but he gives nothing away. He only watches with a carefully neutral expression as River steps into the room. She maintains a respectful distance from Missy even as she sets the takeaway bags at the foot of the bed. The Doctor can smell _mandu_ , _jjajangmyeon_ , and _hotteok_ \- Missy’s favorites from a 57th century Korean restaurant. If it had been him charged with getting dinner, he’d have asked the shops to give him two of everything Missy hates. But his wife has always been rather more forgiving than he is. Lucky for him.

 

Lingering at the other side of Missy’s bed, as though unsure if she’s welcome just yet, River says, “I'm sure you know all the salient details - half human, half Time Lord; the woman who married and killed the Doctor - but do you know the rest?”

 

Missy eyes her warily, tired but still venomous. "I got bored. And you weren't important enough to dig any deeper."

Biting back a smile, River glances at the Doctor with soft eyes. "I suppose the Doctor hasn't told you much either."

 

Their fingers brush as she reaches over to hand him a carton that smells suspiciously like _yukgaejang_. He peeks inside, breathing in the spicy scent and smiling as he says, “Not my story to tell.”

 

Holding her own dinner and leaving the rest to Missy, River bites her lip. “We’re not so different, you and I.” At Missy’s skeptical, slightly ambivalent glance, River smirks. “Why don’t I tell you and you can judge for yourself?” She inches forward a step, hopeful. “It involves kidnapping, murder, and brainwashing if that piques your interest at all.”

 

Missy shrugs, picking delicately at the noodles in her _jjajangmyeon_ and clearly trying not to show any enthusiasm. “If you like,” she says in a bored tone, though the Doctor can see the curiosity in her eyes. “But sit down before you tell me your whole paltry life story, half-breed. I despise hovering.”

 

“Well, how can a girl resist an invitation like that?” With as close to permission as she’ll likely ever get from Missy, River settles onto the edge of the bed. With her dinner balanced on her lap and Missy’s reluctantly interested eyes on her, she begins, “It all started before I was born. Or a long time after, depending on your perspective…”


	3. it keeps out the danger, it holds in the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, they begin to carve out a life for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Discussion of miscarriage
> 
> In which there are scones, a discussion about the morality in Frozen, and the Doctor learns a painful secret.
> 
> Chapter title from Walls by the Lumineers.

Slowly but surely, they begin to carve out a life for themselves. They find a favorite tea shop and order takeaway from the curry place on the corner so often that the delivery fellow knows them by name. They become regulars at a pub in town and spend their Saturdays doing the shopping and marathoning true crime documentaries on Netflix. It’s about seven decades too early for streaming services but the Doctor manages it with a bit of fiddling and his sonic screwdriver. 

 

If he’d been with anyone else all of this might have seemed dreadfully dull but with River, he’s never known a single day of dull. Even the everyday mundane is exciting when his wife is beside him - particularly because he’d been so sure he would never know a normal life with River. It makes this ordinary existence seem like a gift. With a bit of help from his psychic paper and a good word from the University’s newest darling - who just so happens to be his wife - the Doctor even gets a position as a physics professor at St. Luke’s. They walk to work together every morning, hand in hand with a quick stop for tea on the way.

 

The queue is longer than usual this morning and he knows his last body would have been itching to hop ahead a few minutes, anything to avoid the agony of waiting. Time moves differently in this body, or at least it has since he found River again. He doesn’t mind the waiting. Every second is more time with her and he doesn’t want to waste it by wishing it away, even standing in a long queue at a tea shop. 

 

Every few minutes, the door behind them opens as another customer filters in. A chilly blast of morning air always follows and River angles her body into his for warmth. She slips her hands into his coat pockets and tucks her head under his chin, humming contentedly under her breath when he curls his hand over her hip. He brushes his warm lips over her cool forehead and she groans - a small, needy sound that oozes through his veins like molten lava. 

 

He clears his throat, swallowing. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

 

“What?” The question sounds innocent enough but one glance down at River is enough to convince him otherwise. She has her head resting against his shoulder and tipped back to look at him, one eye open to peer at him mischievously and a sly smirk curling her lips. “Something on your mind, Doctor?”

 

“Only because you put it there, Professor.” He glares but by the deepening of her smile, he imagines it must not be very effective. She bats her lashes at him in a way that ought to be quite silly but on her looks entirely comely. He sighs. “It’s too early for you.”

 

“That’s not what you said this morning,” she reminds him, pressing intimately against him. She’s all warm curves and enticing grins as she molds herself to him. The Doctor twitches, ever conscious of his very reliable reaction to his wife’s proximity and the fact that they’re standing in a crowded tea shop at eight in the morning in the 1940s. “Or have you forgotten already?”

 

“On the contrary,” he murmurs, giving in to her charms. He ducks his head, his eyes finding hers. The buzz of conversation around them and the clatter of spoons against china fades away, lost to him the moment their eyes meet. He darts a quick glance at her mouth, licking his lips. “It was quite memorable. But then, it always is.”

 

She leans closer, her voice as dark and sweet as syrup as she declares, “Flirt.”

 

“You started it,” he reminds her, grinning. 

 

“Shut up,” she breathes. “And kiss me, you idiot.”

 

His lips only barely get the chance to brush against hers before a throat clears and shatters the illusion that they’re alone and unobserved. The Doctor blinks, glancing over River’s shoulder to find the woman behind the counter watching them with an amused grin. He sighs, dropping his hands from River’s hips and hiding his discomfort in a cough. “Our turn, I think,” he mumbles, ushering her forward. 

 

Brazen as ever, River only pats his bum and slinks forward to the counter. “Sorry Hildy,” she says, not looking very sorry at all. She corrects her lipstick with a fingertip and winks. “Sometimes a girl just can’t help herself.”

 

Hildy shakes her head, smiling at them. “No need to apologize, dear. It does the heart good to see the pair of you acting like newlyweds.” She sighs, brushing her hands on her apron. “I only wish I knew your secret.”

 

“Oh you know, we like to keep things fresh. Alien incursions, lots of running, and the occasional shag in a monarch’s bed.” River shrugs, crinkling her nose. “The usual.”

 

“Ah, roleplay.” Hildy nods sagely, apparently unperturbed. “How lovely.”

 

River slips her hand into his and her smile is so bright the Doctor can’t bring himself to grumble or sigh or do anything at all but squeeze her fingers with his. “Of course, it helps when your husband is a scary handsome genius,” he points out, and River nudges him. 

 

Hildy only chuckles. “You kids and your flirting.” She claps her hands together, moving toward the cups stacked by the coffee machine. “Now let me guess, two English Breakfasts for the two of you and a raspberry scone for the little one?”

 

The Doctor blinks at her. “The…little one?”

 

“That precocious Missy, of course.” Hildy clucks her tongue. “One of these days, you’ll bring her in and let me see the wee lamb, won’t you?”

 

Exchanging a glance with his bewildered wife, the Doctor mumbles, “Of course.”

 

Satisfied, Hildy turns away to collect their tea and scones, completely oblivious to the puzzled couple she leaves behind. The Doctor stares after her, struggling to wrap his mind around the inference that Missy is their _child_. River purses her lips tightly together, clearly trying to contain her amusement. “Breathe, darling,” she mutters under her breath. “You’ve gone the color of your hair.”

 

He nods woodenly, his mind still spinning. Considering how much of their lives revolve around caring for Missy at the moment, they do tend to talk about her fairly often. He just hadn’t realized how those discussions must sound to the people around them until now. He supposes he can’t blame Hildy for referring to her as their little one when she overhears things like _Missy learned to say please and thank you today, can you believe it?_ and _I know Missy shouldn’t throw her food but putting her in time out isn’t the answer, sweetie_. 

 

Hildy approaches the counter again with their cups of tea. “Now, how about that raspberry scone?”

 

With an uneasy nod, the Doctor says, “Yes, please.”

 

River pats his arm, smiling sweetly. “Pop in an extra one, Hildy. She was _such_ a good girl yesterday.”

 

The Doctor sighs, muttering under his breath as Hildy walks away. “Hate you.”

 

River kisses his cheek. “No, you don’t.”

 

They drop in on Missy before they head up to their offices on the second floor, leaving her scones and promising to spend their lunch break with her. She rolls her eyes at them, mocks them for treating her like a child, and snatches the scones on her way back to bed. _Ooh_ , she says as she crawls beneath the covers. _Raspberry!_ As far as most mornings with Missy tend to go, the Doctor considers it a resounding success. 

 

The rest of the day goes by as it usually does - both he and River occupied with morning classes until around twelve-thirty. They spend an hour in the vault with Missy, bringing her lunch and enduring her whinging for new toys and books until it’s time for their afternoon classes. The Doctor gets a free hour just after three and he uses the time to mark papers and review Missy’s grocery list for the week. 

 

He crosses out _#8 - live chickens_ and _#10 - a deep fryer_ with a muttered, “Nice try.”

 

“Talking to yourself, darling?”

 

He looks up at the sound of her voice, the pen in his hand going slack. River stands in the doorway, one hand on the curve of her hip and her eyebrows raised teasingly. She’d stolen one of his shirts this morning and knotted it at the waist, somehow managing to make it look professional and period appropriate with a blazer, a tight pencil skirt, and modest pumps. Her hair falls in tightly coiled curls down her back and around her face, and it glints golden in the afternoon light slanting through the office windows. A soft smile curls her lips and the Doctor feels his mouth go dry. 

 

He clears his throat and looks away, struggling to rein in the racing of his hearts. Even after all these years, she still makes him feel like a giddy teenager with a crush. His chest feels too tight, like she’s filling his lungs with every breath. “I was talking to Missy,” he finally replies, his eyes drifting back to her against his will. 

 

He holds out her latest list of requests and River pushes off the doorframe with a laugh. She perches on the edge of his desk and takes the list from him, scanning it quickly. Eyeing the two items he just crossed out, she murmurs, “Live chickens and a deep fryer. Entirely unrelated requests, I’m sure.”

 

The Doctor leans back in his chair with a snort, watching River peruse the rest of the list. “I don’t think she’s even serious anymore. Just trying to see what she can get away with.”

 

“She’s testing her limits,” River says, setting aside the list. “Maybe you should get her the chickens.” At his incredulous glance, she holds up a hand. “Not the deep fryer, of course. But it might be good for her to have something to care for.”

 

He shakes his head. “It’s too soon to trust her with a living thing. It would be like trusting a toddler not to strangle a kitten by accident.”

 

River grimaces. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe give her another decade or so.”

 

“Try a century,” the Doctor grumbles. He leans forward in his seat and settles his hand on her knee, stroking her skin through her stockings with his thumb. Watching River bite her lip, he asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be lecturing right now?”

 

She shakes her head, her breath catching in her throat when he slides his hand up her thigh. “I’m having my TA administer a pop quiz.”

 

He hums under his breath, entirely preoccupied with dipping his head to press his mouth along the path his fingers had just taken. “A quiz right after break?” He tsks softly. “Dictator.”

 

She squirms, parting her legs as she admits, “I may have had ulterior motives.”

 

He smirks. “What’s the matter, dear? Missing your old husband?”

 

River gasps when he nips at her thigh through her stockings. “Something like that.” She grips him by the shoulders and pushes him back in his chair, slipping from her perch on the desk to sink onto his lap. He can’t help feeling a little smug when he sees her hands shake as she reaches for his trousers. “We’ve got thirty minutes. Get undressed.”

 

“The perfect sentence,” he says, grinning when she ducks her head to kiss him. 

 

After their classes and office hours have concluded for the day, they spend more time with Missy, either keeping her company or enduring her foul temper, depending on her mood. To the Doctor’s relief, she’s been very nearly agreeable lately. It’s all he can do to resist the hope he feels every time they manage to have a civil conversation. Some days, he actually feels like he’s talking to his best friend again rather than just a stranger with her memories. 

 

His favorite part of this new, ordinary routine is once all that’s done at the end of the day, when it’s just the Doctor and his wife alone at home. They take turns cooking dinner and River endures his experimentation in the kitchen with her usual aplomb and good humor. Tonight, he serves fresh calamari with a side of mango infused chicken stir fry and pesto panini while River teases him about his Julia Child lessons in between bites. 

 

Full of good food and good wine, they curl up together on the sofa in front of the fire afterward. The Doctor likes to read before bed and River uses the time to plan for the following week’s lectures. The sounds of her tapping away at her data pad and scratching out notes in the margins of an old notebook lull him into a state of relaxation so peaceful and soothing and safe that he scarcely notices when the noises suddenly stop. 

 

Drowsy from wine and the closeness of his wife, the Doctor only looks up from his book when he feels the sudden weight of River against his arm. He lifts his eyes from the page, mouth twitching into a smile when he finds her sleeping against his shoulder. Her pen is still dangling from her fingertips and the notebook has fallen to the floor. He moves slowly, saving her data pad from the same fate - rescuing it from its precarious perch on a cushion and setting it on the coffee table instead. He closes his book and eases the reading glasses from the tip of River’s nose, setting both aside to be reclaimed in the morning. 

 

Gathering his wife into his arms and ignoring her sleepy protests mumbled into the fabric of his hoodie, the Doctor stands and makes his way down the hall to their bedroom. By the time he deposits River carefully onto their bed and tucks her in, she’s already asleep again. He slips in beside her and turns out the light, laying on his side and opening his arms just in time to accept the warm body that curls instantly and trustingly into him. 

 

With a content sigh, the Doctor buries his face in her unruly hair and closes his eyes. Fingers latched onto his hoodie and mouth pressed into his neck, River mumbles in her sleep, “You say potato, I say Sontaran.”

 

Stifling a bout of laughter, the Doctor smiles widely into the dark. If this is what the next thousand years holds in store, it’ll never be long enough.

 

-

 

As the last strains of Let It Go echo through the vault while the credits roll, the Doctor forces his gaze away from River curled into his side. She’s barely managed to stay awake through the whole movie and watching her methods of keeping conscious - rapid blinking, wide but adorable yawns, tapping her fingers, and mouthing along the words to the songs - have been his source of amusement for the last hour. 

 

He lets her uncurl from his side to stand and stretch, popcorn kernels falling from her lap and onto the floor. Feeling cold without her warmth next to him, he sets aside the empty bowl and tucks his chin into the neck of his hoodie, turning his attention to Missy. She managed to make it through the whole thing without her usual abrasive commentary but she’s been surprisingly cooperative since they switched to Disney films. “Well?” He asks, arching an eyebrow. “What did you think?”

 

Curled up on an armchair, her legs tucked under her skirts and her fingers still tapping out the rhythm of one of the songs, Missy only sniffs. “Overly sentimental stuff and nonsense, as usual.”

 

“Considering you threw your milkshake at the screen when I tried to show you Dead Poet’s Society, I’d say that’s quite an improvement.” He waggles his brows at her and she huffs, flicking a candy wrapper in his direction. “Come on, what was your favorite part?”

 

Missy brightens at once, forgetting her petulance as she confides, “I liked it when the sidekick with the braids punched the poncy one.”

 

Exchanging a glance with River, the Doctor prods, “Why?”

 

Missy freezes, apparently catching on. She purses her lips and glances away. “It was funny.”

 

“It’s only funny if you think he deserved it,” the Doctor points out. “Which means you weren’t rooting for him.”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Punching people is always funny. Nice, poncy, young, old - makes no difference to me.”

 

The Doctor grins at her. “You hated Hans, didn’t you?”

 

Missy thrusts out her chin. “So what?”

 

“No reason.” He shrugs, like he has no vested interest in the twists and turns of her psyche. “Overall message?”

 

She groans, rolling her eyes heavenward. He’s pretty sure she even sneaks a glance at River, like maybe his wife might save her from enduring another session about feelings. When no help arrives, she flops back into her seat with a sigh and says, “Being mean is socially acceptable if you’re royalty with sparkly magic snow powers?”

 

The Doctor sighs. “Try again.”

 

Missy taps her fingers against her chin in mock contemplation. “Oh, I know.” She smiles. “Girls are emotional, ticking time bombs waiting to go _boom_.” She spreads out her hands, her eyes going wide. In a sing-song voice, she trills, “Conceal, don’t feel.”

 

Well, at least he knows she was paying attention. 

 

Somewhere behind him, he hears River stifle a snort. 

 

The Doctor bites his tongue. He honestly can’t ascertain whether Missy plays oblivious to annoy him or if she genuinely doesn’t - _can’t_ \- grasp the meaning yet. “Not quite,” he tells her, watching her arrange her face into an exaggerated pout. “Though those are interesting interpretations. You could technically glean quite a few lessons from the film if you tried but I think the most important one for you is about self-control.”

 

She frowns. “Self-control?”

 

“Yes,” he says wearily. “You know that thing most people have that keeps them from acting on their every selfish impulse?”

 

“Ah, that.” She tuts, shaking her head. “Dearest, we’re Time Lords. We don’t need a silly thing like that - we’re at the top of the food chain, you see.”

 

He sighs. “Self-control is what sets us apart from the animals.”

 

“No, it’s what sets the _humans_ apart from the animals.” Missy frowns. “What separates the humans from _us_ is…” She glances at River, arching an eyebrow. “Well, everything.”

 

“We’re not better than them,” he says, drawing her attention again. “Different but not better. Careful, you’re starting to sound like Rassilon.”

 

Missy blinks at him. “What’s wrong with that? Grant you, he was an arrogant sod but he certainly knew where Time Lords fit in the grand scheme of things. Right at the top, in case you’ve forgotten.”

 

The Doctor grits his teeth. “He was a homicidal dictator.”

 

She squints. “And that’s… _bad_.”

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well it certainly isn’t good.”

 

“Ugh, boring.” Slouching back into her chair, Missy asks, “Why does everything have to be _good_?”

 

The Doctor glares. “That attitude is half the reason you’re in here.”

 

“What’s the other half?”

 

“You’re irritating.”

 

Missy scowls. 

 

“Look…” He tugs his fingers through his hair, struggling to get his point across. Sometimes explaining how to be a good person to Missy feels a bit like trying to explain the beginning of the universe to a human infant. Futile and ultimately headache-inducing. “The point is that yes, we as a species do happen to be smarter and stronger than most everyone else. And with that comes a certain amount of responsibility to the more vulnerable races in this universe.”

 

Missy sticks out her tongue. “Dull.”

 

His eyes narrow. “Perhaps if you showed a little more restraint you wouldn’t be in this vault.” 

 

She tilts her head in agreement. “Yes, but at what cost? Spending all those years faffing about doing good deeds like you?” She cringes, shuddering. “ _Yawn_.”

 

He’s been clinging to his patience with her all evening but suddenly, in the face of her complete and utter disinterest, he loses it. “If you had, I might have a shred of faith in you still left. There would be countless innocent people still alive. You might consider self-control dull and above you, Missy, but I can assure you every single life you’ve ever encountered and snuffed out _died_ wishing you had just a bit of it.”

 

She stares at him wordlessly, startled into silence. Her eyes are wide and her mouth quivers but the Doctor has seen her act too often to be fooled by it now. 

 

With a shake of his head, he stands up and mutters, “Get some sleep. We’ll bring you breakfast in the morning.” He holds out a hand for River, eyeing her tiredly. “Let’s go, dear.”

 

River frowns but merely nods and murmurs goodnight to Missy, taking his hand and following him out of the vault. She says nothing at all until the door closes behind them and the lock engages, sealing Missy into her self-inflicted prison. Her hand slips from his and when she turns to face him, there is no condemnation in her eyes but he feels oddly guilty anyway. “Was that really necessary?”

 

“Don’t let her fool you,” he says, turning away to set the alarm system. As he types the passcode into the keypad, he feels River’s eyes on him. “She may not feel much remorse but she learned a long time ago how to fake it.”

 

“And what if she isn’t?”

 

He pauses, glancing at her. “She is. Trust me.”

 

“I do. Always.” She steps closer, curling her fingers around his arm. He stares at her small, slender hand and swallows. “But don’t you think you might be a bit too close to this situation to see it properly?”

 

He sighs, dropping his hand from the keypad. “What are you trying to say, River? Out with it.”

 

She meets his gaze unwaveringly and he’s trapped by the soft concern shining in her eyes. “If you’re never going to trust Missy then what are we doing here?” 

 

The Doctor frowns. “It hasn’t even been a year. You can’t expect me to believe she’s changed overnight.”

 

“Of course not.” She squeezes his arm gently. “It’s going to take a long time.”

 

His brow furrows. “Then what’s the matter?”

 

River slips her hand from his arm, tangling their fingers together instead. “She wants to change for you; to be your friend again. Do you really think she’ll care once she realizes you’ve already decided she can’t be trusted? She’ll stop trying if there’s nothing to work for.”

 

He bristles under her knowing gaze. “How about being good for the sake of it rather than a reward?”

 

“She’s not there yet and you know it.” River’s stare hardens, her mouth pursing into a thin line even as her grip on his hand tightens. He recalls with startling clarity the years she went to University, dropping in and out of her life at random just to see how she was doing. To remind her that she wasn’t alone, that he was waiting for her when she was ready to choose. “You want her to be good? Show her what good looks like.”

 

The Doctor stares at her, mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment. Finally, he wilts under River’s expectant gaze and nods. A tired smile tugging at his mouth, he brings her hand up to his lips and kisses her knuckles reverently. “River Song,” he murmurs fondly. “How did I manage all those years without you?”

 

“You didn’t,” she whispers, using her free hand to cup his cheek in her palm. Her thumb strokes lovingly across his cheekbone and he leans into the touch like a starved creature offered sustenance. “Or have you forgotten that terrible suit?”

 

He bites back a snort of laughter, bending his head to kiss her quiet. 

 

Missy is still sitting where they left her when they slip back into the vault minutes later. Curled up in her chair with her hands clenched in her skirts, she stares sightlessly into the middle distance until the Doctor clears his throat. She blinks, tilting her head to look at him. “What’s the matter?” She asks, shaking off whatever strange mood had settled over her. “Forget to tuck me in?”

 

River presses a hand into his back before he can reply, stepping around him. “Actually, we wanted to ask if we could stay here tonight. It’s terribly late anyway and we both have classes in the morning. Isn’t that right, darling?”

 

He meets Missy’s gaze over her shoulder in silent apology for their little tiff and she crinkles her nose, as though accepting such an apology would be beneath her. It would be acknowledging he’d hurt her feelings. It would be acknowledging she has feelings to hurt in the first place. “Only if you don’t mind.”

 

She studies them both for a long moment, her dark eyes probably seeing far more than either of them would like. Despite looking strangely vulnerable tucked into her chair with her arms hugging her knees, Missy is still Missy. She must know they’re making up an excuse to stay the night but she doesn’t point it out. Instead, she lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Stay if you like.” She affects a terrible, slightly offensive Spanish accent and drawls, “ _Mi casa, es su casa_.”

 

River beams at her. “Thank you, dear.”

 

The Doctor expects to pass an uncomfortable night on the settee with River tucked into the crook of his arm but with a gentle nudge from her, he finds himself sprawled in Missy’s massive bed. To add insult to injury, he isn’t even beside his wife. For some reason entirely beyond even his understanding, Missy had stepped out of her wardrobe in flannel pajamas and her hair tied into a braid, only to insinuate herself between him and River like some sort of spoiled house cat. 

 

Currently flirting with the very edge of the mattress and enduring Missy’s pointed elbow in his side, the Doctor shuts his eyes tightly and tries to sleep. It’s only when he focuses on River’s even, quiet breaths that he finally feels his body start to relax into the plump bed beneath him. And when Missy finally moves her elbow from his ribs and shifts away from him in her sleep, he mutters in relief under his breath. 

 

Turning over, he grabs his pillow and a bit more of the blankets, hoping to stake his claim to his newly vacated territory before Missy moves again. The sight waiting for him on the other side of the bed stops him in his tracks. River sleeps on her back, hair fanned out across her pillow and a peaceful half-smile curling her mouth. He gazes at her longingly for a moment before shifting his attention back to the reason for his bewilderment - Missy huddled trustingly against River in her slumber, a few stray curls in her mouth while she snores. 

 

Fighting back a snort of laughter, the Doctor drops his head back to his pillow and amuses himself with imagining Missy’s horror if she knew she’d cuddled River Song in her sleep like a teddy bear. Best not mention it to her - just in case. 

 

-

 

When the Doctor wakes in the morning, it’s to River leaning over him with a hand on his arm and her hair tickling his cheek. Before he remembers where he is, he groans and rolls over, trying to pull her with him. At her laughing protest, last night comes back to him in a rush and he groans again. They’re not at home - they’re in Missy’s vault. He flops onto his back once more and opens his eyes to glare at the ceiling.

 

Still laughing softly at him from her place beside the bed, River leans in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. He reaches for her, wrapping an arm around her waist in a vain effort to keep her from escaping. River lets him keep her close for a moment, stroking his hair when he buries his face in her sweet-smelling neck. “Darling, I’ve got a class to teach. And you’ve got a recovering psychopath to feed.”

 

He frowns, keeping a hand on her hip even as he leans back to have a look at her. River stands before him already dressed for the day - how she managed that without actually having a wardrobe here, he’ll never know - and her satchel is slung over her shoulder. He eyes her pink cheeks, tumbling curls, and that sinful smirk, feeling a low hum of desire spread all through him. “Or,” he begins, licking his lips. “We could skip all that and I could take you home and-”

 

She turns her head, her smiling lips pressed softly to his. “Come by my office at lunch and you can finish that sentence however you like, Time Lord.”

 

He groans again, feeling her teasing fingertips stroke his jaw as she slips out of his grasp. He leans up on his elbows, watching her walk away with a little extra sway in her hips just for him. In the other room, he can hear Missy complaining about the _appalling lack of service in this place_. With a grumbling sigh, the Doctor rolls out of bed and lets his bare feet hit the cold floor. 

 

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, River has already left. Missy sits with her feet propped up on the table and her arms crossed but she brightens the moment she sees him. “I don’t think you got quite enough beauty rest, dearest,” she says, squinting at him. “You look exactly the same as yesterday.”

 

He tosses her a baleful glance on his way to the refrigerator and Missy smiles sunnily at him, apparently in the mood to be extra irritating this morning. “How do you want your eggs?”

 

“Can we have omelets this morning?” Missy tucks her hands beneath her chin and bats her lashes at him, pouting. “Please, Sir?”

 

With a sigh, the Doctor glances back into the refrigerator and spies some cheese, a few peppers, a container of mushrooms, and a couple links of sausage from River’s last trip to the grocer. “Fine,” he says, “but no picking off the veg.”

 

Wilting a bit, Missy salutes and mutters, “Yes, warden.”

 

He glares at her mildly over his shoulder, stacking ingredients into his arms. “Behave or I’ll stick in some spinach too.”

 

It’s a lie because there isn’t any spinach available but Missy doesn’t appear to know the contents of her own kitchen because she only grumbles under her breath and reaches for the pitcher of juice River had left out for them. She pours herself a generous helping and the Doctor busies himself with chopping up the vegetables for the omelets. Missy hasn’t earned nearly enough trust to be left unsupervised with sharp utensils so the chopping takes a while as he cuts through peppers with a dull butterknife. 

 

Behind him, Missy is mercifully quiet for nearly five whole minutes. The silence does nothing for his mood, however, because he knows her too well. She doesn’t hate spinach or take his threats seriously enough to actually obey unless she wants to. Which means she’s keeping to herself for a reason. As he cracks an egg over the pan on the hob, the Doctor waits in tense silence for her to reveal whatever it is on her mind. 

 

He’s nearly finished with the first omelet when she finally speaks. His shoulders come up around his ears in automatic response to the sound of her voice, stiffening on instinct. “Tell me, was the Missus disappointed I interrupted your ickle retirement? I do hope she wasn’t terribly upset.”

 

“She’s fine,” he says, scraping the omelet off the pan and onto a plate. 

 

“Glad to hear it.”Missy hums and he can feel her eyes on his back as he fumbles around in the utensil drawer. “I’d be quite pleased too if I knew I’d just postponed my death by a thousand years.”

 

The Doctor stiffens, his fingers closing around a fork. 

 

Sounding far too pleased with herself, Missy goes on, “I started digging around after her little bedtime story all those weeks ago. You know, it’s astounding what one can discover with a Kindle, a wifi connection, and a teensy bit of a nudge at the largest database in the universe.”

 

He whirls, his fingers white-knuckled around her plate. He considers throwing it at her but just barely restrains himself. Missy watches him with dark eyes, a smirk curling her lips. Nostrils flaring, he stalks forward and drops the plate onto the table in front of her with a clatter. She almost flinches and he takes grim satisfaction in that as he warns, “If you breathe one word to her-”

 

Missy widens her eyes, pressing a hand over her hearts. “Dearest, I would never muck about with her timeline so irresponsibly. Foreknowledge such as that could destroy her very existence.”

 

Leaning in close, the Doctor meets her stare coldly. “It could destroy yours too.” She almost smiles, tilting her head in acknowledgement of the threat. “Stay away from the Library database.”

 

Her eyes gleam. “Why?”

 

He says nothing, stoically returning her interested gaze. 

 

With a sigh, Missy shrugs. “All right, no need to go all Mr. Volcano. I’ve no doubt you’ll manage some sort of daring rescue when the time comes.” She sips daintily at her juice as the Doctor turns back to the stove, avoiding her eyes. “Otherwise, honey, what good are you?”

 

Cracking another egg in the sizzling pan, the Doctor closes his eyes in silent agreement.

 

-

 

Of all the places the Doctor has been and all the wonders he has seen, there still isn’t much to compare to England in the autumn. The trees have all turned vibrant colors, everything is always slightly damp, and the soft glow of twinkle lights blink like stars. He breathes in the crisp, cool air as he and River wander through the park, their cold hands entwined. He can smell the eminent arrival of the approaching winter, the cider a nearby vendor is selling, and the supple leather of River’s boots. Brittle leaves crunch under her feet as she walks and swirl around their path on the wind. 

 

He tugs her closer and River curls into him willingly, her head on his shoulder. The Doctor buries his nose in her hair, hiding a smile. She’d stolen one of his jumpers today and paired it with trousers that hug her curves and make it completely impossible for him not to slip his hand into her back pocket as they walk. “Naughty,” she gasps, sounding pleased. 

 

The Doctor squeezes her bum and replies, “Only with you, dear.”

 

River kisses his chin. “Good boy.”

 

They’ve already visited Missy, bringing a pizza and a chess set with them. Missy had been appeased enough with all her favorite toppings to agree to play a game with each of them without cheating. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening and after leaving the vault behind, they’d decided to walk home the long way round and enjoy the weather before it turns too cold. 

 

Nearing the park exit, they both slow their steps at the sound of nearby childish laughter. The Doctor turns his head, watching a group of toddlers swimming in a pile of leaves. He feels a smile curl his mouth. There’s nothing quite like human children - curious and noisy and so certain the world will never harm them. As he watches, a wee girl in pigtails dives into the fray with a shout, landing on some poor, unsuspecting lad. For some reason, she reminds him of River. 

 

The Doctor glances at his wife, intending to tell her so, and stops. His teasing words lodge in his throat the moment he catches sight of River staring at the children with longing so unmistakable and clear that it steals his breath. He’s usually never lost for words. He can count on one hand the number of times he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. The night he found out who River really was. The first time he ever saw her naked. The day they lost her parents. And right now. 

 

He’d never asked. Not once in their entire marriage had he ever brought up the subject of children. Granted, their lives had never been suited for such things but now, staring at the answer to a question he hadn’t realized was hanging unspoken between them, he knows that if River had ever made it clear that she wanted it he would have made it work.

 

River turns away from the happy scene first. Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor watches as she blinks and the look of yearning on her face just disappears. She glances up at him with a smile, clearly under the impression he hadn’t seen a thing. Perhaps because he never has before. “Come on, old man,” she says softly, leaning up on her toes. She presses a warm kiss to his cheek and he marvels that nothing in her voice betrays her. “Let’s go home.”

 

They walk the rest of the way back to their place in silence and though the Doctor keeps his arm around her waist, the lighter mood that had existed between them earlier has evaporated. Guilt settles heavy in his stomach, eating away at him as they slip into their house. 

 

He settles on the edge of their bed and watches River wipe off her makeup in their adjoining bathroom. Wild curls pulled back away from her face, she leans over the sink to peer into the mirror. The Doctor follows her practiced movements with his eyes, wondering if there’s anything else she wants that he hasn’t given her. What sort of life might she have had if he hadn’t taken any chance of normal away from her before she was ever born?

 

River pads softly out of the bathroom, hair around her shoulders now as she pulls her jumper over her head. Her trousers follow. The Doctor flinches as her clothes hit the floor, knowing by the smile on his wife’s face that she’s about to cross the room and nestle into his arms. She’ll press her bare skin to his and kiss him until the bite of the evening air is nothing but a distant memory, her warmth eclipsing all thoughts of the cold. But he can’t hold her right now - not when he doesn’t deserve it. Not when there’s something he needs to hear first. 

 

“You wanted them, didn’t you?”

 

The words tumble out of his mouth, rough around the edges with grief and guilt. 

 

River pauses, hands poised to unclasp her bra. The smile slips from her face. “What?”

 

“Children,” he rasps. 

 

She goes utterly still, staring at him with startled eyes. 

 

It’s clear she isn’t going to regain speech any time soon so he keeps talking. “I probably should have asked a long time ago. That’s a question husbands ask their wives, isn’t it? Or maybe they don’t - I don’t know. I’m rubbish at this, always have been.” He licks his lips, pausing briefly. “But if you did - want them, I mean-”

 

“I did.” River clears her throat but the tremble in her voice remains. “Once.”

 

He flinches, though he’d known the answer in his hearts anyway. “Did?” He swallows. “What changed?”

 

She draws in a breath, as though steeling herself. The words slip from her mouth in a pained whisper. “I miscarried.”

 

The Doctor draws in a shocked breath and it catches in his chest, forming a painful lump in his throat. His eyes sting, watering against his will. It feels remarkably like he’s standing outside of his own body, the words coming from someone else as he asks, “You what?”

 

Clasping her hands together, River studies the floor blankly. “It was a long time ago,” she says. “When we were in America dealing with the Silence. For a while, my mother and I were pregnant at the same time.”

 

In the face of her weak smile, he feels his throat close up. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know.” River blinks rapidly, biting her lip. “I wasn’t exactly taking it easy at the time. Maybe it was too much stress on the fetus. Maybe the Silence did something and I just can’t remember it.” The Doctor recoils, horrified by the notion, but River doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are far away, lost in some memory he cannot share. “I only know that I woke up one night in some roadside motel in Florida with blood on the sheets and this terrible certainty that it was over.” She closes her eyes briefly, hands curling into fists. “I made sure we were careful after that.”

 

The Doctor clenches his jaw until it aches, the guilt and grief twisting together in his gut until he thinks he’ll be sick. She’d been alone. River had lost a child - their child, a child he’d never even known existed - and she’d been alone and afraid. In silent shame, he adds it to the ever-growing list of things he will never forgive himself for.

 

His voice cracks when he speaks, as though he hasn’t uttered a word in a thousand years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“It happened while I was on the run from Canton all those months. You were too young. And then you kissed me. Your first kiss. My last.” River forces a smile he sees right through. “I knew time was running out for us. Once I ran into an older version of you again, I couldn’t justify telling you something that would only bring you more pain.”

 

He shuts his eyes, unable to watch her shrug this off for his sake. He used to wonder how much she kept from him in the name of hiding the damage but not in his worst imaginings had it ever occurred to him that she would conceal something like this. “Then why tell me now?”

 

River sighs quietly. “Because, my love, you asked me.”

 

He swallows roughly, struggling to come to grips with the knowledge that River had been pregnant once. When he’d made her watch him die for the second time; when he’d stood there and told her he didn’t trust her with his life, she’d been carrying their baby. And after she had lost it, he’d had the gall to flirt with her, to kiss her and run back to his TARDIS because _there’s a first time for everything_. 

 

The Doctor clenches his fists. _Pillock_.

 

“I’m sorry, River,” he breathes, forcing his eyes open. “I should have been there.”

 

River, standing there in her knickers, her hearts visible in her eyes, only looks at him with forgiveness. “Darling, how could you have been? I didn’t tell you.”

 

“I don’t care,” he says through gritted teeth. He grips his hair in his hands. “I should have sensed it. And maybe I would have if I hadn’t been such a selfish, insensitive _prick_ -”

 

“Hush now.” River closes the distance between them, settling onto the edge of the bed beside him. Her arms wrap around him and he drops his head to her shoulder, clutching her to him like a life raft in a storm. She curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and whispers, “That’s the man I love you’re talking about.”

 

The Doctor makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, gripping her tightly to him. He knows he’s going to leave bruises and he hates himself all the more for it - hasn’t he left enough marks on her? “I’m sorry,” he says again.

 

River presses her warm lips to his temple. “Me too, darling.”

 

He draws in a breath and makes himself pull away from the comfort of her arms, scrubbing at his face. His eyes feel like sandpaper and he blinks hard, peering at River through his fingertips. “We could try again.”

 

She gazes back at him in weary regret, her eyes rimmed red. “Could we?”

 

He sighs, hating himself for even offering as he contemplates their life at the moment - tenured professors by day and rehabilitating a murderous psychopath by night. For once, they’re finally linear but their lives have never been more complicated. “No, I suppose we couldn’t,” he admits, wondering why his hearts ache at the loss of something he hadn’t even known he wanted an hour ago. “Missy is more than enough at the moment.” He hesitates, not quite willing to let go of the picture in his head of he and River and a wee babe. “Maybe after-”

 

River smiles, her eyes pained. “You and I both know what happens after.”

 

His throat tightens. “River - no. I’m not giving up Darillium.”

 

“I know.” Her smile turns brittle as she waves him away. “But let’s face it, children just aren’t in the cards for us. It doesn’t matter-”

 

“Don’t,” he says, not quite able to keep the bite out of his voice. River stills. “Don’t do that with me again. It matters or we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

 

“What would you have me do?” She asks, pulling away from him entirely. She laces her hands together on her lap but she doesn’t shy away from his gaze. “Waste time being upset when there’s nothing we can do to change it? I won’t do that.” Her eyes water and she grits her teeth, finally glancing away. “I won’t waste one second of our time together on mourning what I don’t have, Doctor. Especially not when you’ve given me so much.”

 

He scoffs, glowering at the floor. “I’ve given you less than half of what you deserve.”

 

“Oh my love,” she sighs, reaching out for him again. “Always so hard on yourself.” She cups his face in her hands and her eyes are soft and fathomless as she gazes at him. “It was always enough just to be with you. Everything else is just…extra.”

 

She looks at him with such unshakable faith and such abiding love - he’s left with no other choice but to close the gap between them and kiss her. He threads his fingers through her curls, cradling her head in his palms, and her mouth opens under his. Her lips are soft and she tastes faintly of the cider she’d nicked from the vendor in the park. The Doctor shifts closer, drawing her into him. His thumb strokes the shell of her ear as he deepens the kiss, eager for more of her taste and her touch, _everything_. 

 

River arches into him with a hungry sigh. Her chest brushes his tantalizingly and it’s then that he remembers she isn’t wearing anything but her bra and knickers. Groaning into her mouth, he drops his hands from her hair to touch her. River gasps against his lips, maneuvering them backwards onto the bed with all the deadly grace of her assassin upbringing. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, her touch heavy with grief and desire, and he knows he’ll carry her fingerprints on his skin for days. 

 

“Wait,” he breathes, capturing her hands gently. His hearts pound in his ears and his trousers are so tight he feels on the verge of fainting but she deserves to hear this. He swallows thickly, staring up at his wife. Panting, River licks her kiss-swollen lips and peers down at him with glittering eyes. His eyes sting as he looks at her, struggling to find the words. “River, I - you know that I-”

 

She strokes his cheek gently. “It’s all right, Doctor.”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, hating himself. “You know, don’t you?” He asks, risking a glimpse of her through his lashes. “Because I do.” He meets her gaze steadily now, forcing the words past his tight throat. “More than every living thing.”

 

River squeezes his hands in hers, warm and reassuring. “I know,” she whispers, smiling tremulously. “Of course I know, darling.”

 

They don’t talk any more that night, holding each other in the dark. The Doctor tries desperately to show her what he can never quite seem to say out loud, whispering into her hair as they make love that he’s only ever needed her too. That she alone is enough. He touches her with tender reassurance but River touches to bruise, as if to leave herself evidence that this is her new reality.

 

The Doctor drowns himself in her, wrapped in her embrace and the exquisite heat of her. He whispers her name with reverence, like the sound of it on his tongue contains whole universes. River rolls her hips to take him deeper, her nails digging into his arms as he moves within her. It doesn’t take long before they’re gasping together, grasping at each other and the bedsheets as the world fades to gray around them. Eventually, they fall into an uneasy sleep curled around each other and he knows they’re both thinking of what they’ve lost and what was never theirs in the first place. 


	4. don't read the last page, but i stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He glances across the room to River again, using her sonic screwdriver to untangle the fairy lights for the tree. The glow of lights around her makes her hair shine and there’s a contentedness lurking in the curl of her mouth that steals his breath. He’s given her that, somehow, just by staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there are presents. And hope - always hope. 
> 
> Chapter title from New Year's Day by Taylor Swift.

Missy posing for a picture in a Santa hat is something the Doctor never thought he would live long enough to see. Trust River to make it happen. In the relatively short time they’ve been living this linear life together, he’s come to regard his wife as something of a miracle worker. She makes the impossible and the ridiculous happen - sometimes at once. 

 

“Your wife is _deplorable_ ,” Missy snarls under her breath. Arms crossed over her chest, she glowers at the Doctor from beneath the furry white brim of her hat. “And if that picture ends up anywhere on Spacebook I’ll yank out her entrails and use them to decorate the tree.”

 

The Doctor grins, for once untroubled by the threats. “How’d it turn out, sweetheart?”

 

“Holiday card worthy, darling.” Inspecting the picture on her phone, River glances up with a smile. Missy bares her teeth but River pretends not to notice. “I think she’s earned her present.”

 

With a flourish, the Doctor pulls the crisp white sheet away from Missy’s Christmas present, revealing a baby grand piano. He’d had to use the TARDIS to transport it into the vault, shoving it out the doors himself while River made Missy turn around and hum to keep it a surprise. He glances at Missy to catch her reaction and finds her completely frozen, the Santa hat crumpled in her fist as she stares. The piano gleams even in the dim light of the vault, brand new and yet about a hundred years old in this time period. 

 

Missy has been complaining for weeks about needing some new records for her gramophone and they’d gotten her a few of those too but when River had asked him if she played any instruments, he’d known instantly the perfect Christmas gift for her. And somehow, despite the years of distance and betrayal between them, he’d been right because Missy hasn’t taken her eyes off the piano yet.

 

She swallows and he can see the movement in her throat. Her mouth opens soundlessly and she takes a small, tentative step forward. Hand outstretched, she touches her fingertips to the ivory keys and the Doctor could swear he sees the faintest hint of a smile curl her mouth. She’s happy, he realizes with a start. Genuinely happy over something completely harmless. She’s doing her damnedest not to show it outwardly but he knows her too well. She’s actually pleased.

 

He’s surprised by how relieved he is, considering most days it’s River who pushes him to give his old friend a chance. He lets out a quiet breath, catching his wife’s gaze as Missy tucks her skirts beneath her and sinks onto the piano bench, her eyes glimmering and eager. River winks at him and he smiles, watching her turn her back. 

 

She busies herself with hanging more garland and twinkle lights but he knows she’s trying to give him a moment alone with Missy so he doesn’t waste it. With one last glance at River arranging lights on the mantle, he nicks a biscuit from the plate on the coffee table and moves to join Missy at the piano. He pauses only once, bending to scoop up River’s Christmas present from the floor before someone accidentally steps on it. The kitten nuzzles into his palm, meowing softly until he tucks it inside his coat pocket. 

 

Missy glances at it when he settles onto the bench beside her, raising an eyebrow. The kitten peers back at her, fluffy head peeking out to watch her tinker with the piano keys. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

 

Munching on the last of his biscuit, the Doctor asks, “What?” 

 

Missy smirks. “Giving her an animal that looks like you.”

 

He frowns, glancing at the little gray ball of fur tucked snugly into his coat pocket. When he’d given River the tiny, grumpy-faced thing, she’d cradled him to her chest and insisted on calling him Gandalf. _Because he reminds me of a good wizard_ , she’d said, pressing her smiling lips to his cheek. Flushing now under Missy’s gaze, he says, “It’s not - I didn’t - I just wanted her to have-”

 

“A pussy to pet?” Missy snarks.

 

The Doctor sighs, thinking of that night all those weeks ago when River finally told him the secret she’d been carrying around for years. They haven’t talked about it again but he knows that with a thousand years living in one place together, they’ll find their way back to it at some point. He isn’t in a rush. And he knows a kitten is hardly the same thing as a child but it’s…something. An acknowledgement of River’s quiet longing and his own inability to give her what she deserves - and just maybe, a promise that someday that might change. 

 

“Something to care for that isn’t a homicidal maniac.”

 

“How sweet,” she says dryly, in the same manner someone else might say _get that flea-infested rat away from me_. “Enjoying your babysitting venture, then?”

 

He glances across the room to River again, using her sonic screwdriver to untangle the fairy lights for the tree. The glow of lights around her makes her hair shine and there’s a contentedness lurking in the curl of her mouth that steals his breath. He’s given her that, somehow, just by staying. He catches the faint sound of her humming a carol under her breath as she works and feels so utterly warm and enamored that he has to look away. 

 

“Making the most of it,” he finally answers, refusing to admit that what is undoubtedly one of the more unpleasant parts of Missy’s existence so far is likely the best part of his. He doubts such a confession would do anything for her mood. Swiftly changing the subject, he asks, “How are you feeling today?”

 

“Not bad,” she trills, and neither of them brings up the fact that he’d found her curled up on the floor yesterday staring into space. “I got a pressie.”

 

He snorts. “Yeah, that always did lift your spirits.”

 

Missy is quiet for a long time and he wonders if she’s remembering their academy days and all the silly presents he’d give her when she was in a foul mood. He remembers in particular a hastily sketched, rather insulting portrait of their overbearing Headmaster after a bout of detention. Koschei had kept it folded up in his notebook that whole year and the Doctor wonders briefly whatever had happened to it. Lost probably, like everything else. 

 

Missy hesitates another moment before she finally says very softly, “Thanks.”

 

He blinks at her, only barely managing to stop his mouth from dropping open. In all the time he’s known her, he can’t ever remember hearing her express genuine gratitude for anything. It’s hardly proof that she’s really changing for good this time but it’s…progress. Progress he’d never really believed she’d make. 

 

As bewildered as he is, the Doctor does his best not to show it. He only shrugs and says, “You’re welcome.” He hesitates before adding, “It was River’s idea. I picked out the sheet music though.”

 

Missy cringes. “I’ll not be thanking the half breed.”

 

“It’s all right,” he says, refusing to rise to the bait. “I thanked her enough for the both of us.”

 

She glances at him sharply, clearly trying to determine if he means it the way she thinks he does. Just to be clear, he waggles his brows suggestively. Her eyes widen and she gags theatrically, leaning away from him in apparent disgust. “Oh honestly. It’s bad enough you’ve lowered yourself to mate with it. Must you brag about it?”

 

He chuckles, too pleased by her little breakthrough to be bothered by her well-worn, tired insults toward River. At this point, he’s starting to think she only means about half of it anyway. “Sorry,” he says, making it quite clear in his tone that he isn’t really at all. 

 

Still shooting him wary glances, Missy sniffs and turns away. She starts to play a little tune, slowly at first and then gaining speed as the melody floats to the surface of her vast memory. After a moment, the Doctor recognizes it as Brahm’s Hungarian Dance and joins her, lifting a hand to tickle the keys lazily. 

 

Missy nudges him with a sharp elbow and only just misses poor Gandalf in the process. “You’re rusty,” she chides, clucking her tongue.

 

The Doctor scoops the kitten from his coat pocket and deposits him on top of the piano instead, safely out of Missy’s range. The little ball of fuzzy gray fur meows in gratitude. “Haven’t exactly had time to keep up with lessons in the last few centuries,” he grumbles. 

 

“Nonsense, it’s like riding a bike.” She reaches for his hand, adjusting his fingers against the keys patiently. “There, see?”

 

The Doctor stares at her, feeling something remarkably like hope wind its way around his hearts. For the first time since he and River vowed to keep watch over Missy, he feels like getting his friend back might be a possibility after all. He sees Koschei in her right now, in the stubborn tilt of her mouth and the patient way she guides his hands like she’s sitting with him in the library at the Academy again, teaching him how to study for Professor Borusa’s exams. 

 

As though she feels his gaze on her, Missy glances at him out of the corner of her eye. When she catches him staring, she flinches away, avoiding his gaze like a cornered animal. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just…Happy Christmas, Missy.”

 

She scrunches up her face, like the sentiment physically hurts her to hear. “Ditto, I suppose,” she mutters, turning back to the keys. “Now start again. This is a duet, not a group project. I will _not_ be carrying you.” She snaps her fingers impatiently. “Come on. Chop, chop.”

 

Hiding a smile, the Doctor turns his attention to the piano once more, deciding that maybe it isn’t too late to start again for a lot of things. 

 

-

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

The Doctor stands in the doorway of their ensuite bathroom, clad in a pair of old joggers, and waits for River to look up. She does but only barely, too caught up in the stack of essays she’s marking. Leaning against the headboard of their bed and wearing nothing but one of his hoodies, her reading glasses perched on her nose and her hair tied up haphazardly, she’s quite a distracting sight. “Of course you can, my love.”

 

He rubs a hand thoughtfully over his jaw and ventures, “I’m thinking of growing a beard. What do you think?”

 

River frowns but still doesn’t look up from her marking. “Doctor, you know how I feel about facial hair on you.”

 

He drops his hand, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t count; it was a different face.”

 

“But the same man. You’re just not suited for it, darling.” She makes a note in the margin of an essay, still only giving him half of her attention. “Besides, I like a clean shaven face.”

 

With a sigh and a grumble, the Doctor pushes off the doorframe and rounds to his side of the bed. In a fit of childish petulance entirely unbecoming on a being of his age, he mutters, “Liked it fine on Ramone though.”

 

River stills, her fingers tightening briefly around her pen as she glances at him over the rim of her glasses. “What was that?”

 

Her carefully neutral tone should have given him pause, considering it usually makes most everyone else shudder in fear and drop whatever weapon they happen to be holding. Irrationally jealous and far too stubborn to take it back, the Doctor only repeats himself more clearly this time. “I said you liked a beard just fine when it was on your pretty Ramone.”

 

With a frustrated groan, River snatches off her glasses and sets them aside along with her stack of essays. The lot of it hits the bedside table with a threatening _thump_. “He was not _my_ Ramone. How many times are we going to go over this, you daft old man? He didn’t mean anything.”

 

“Seriously?” He scoffs, his mind unwillingly inundated with images of River snogging the handsome faced younger man. Shaking his head to dislodge the unwelcome memory, he grits his teeth. “You can’t possibly tell me you married him and felt nothing.”

 

“It was just a bit of fun,” she says, shrugging. “And it’s awfully brave of you bringing up other marriages considering you’re way ahead of me in that department. Tell me, Doctor, were you madly in love with everyone you’ve ever married?”

 

He scowls. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“You first.” River sighs when he glances away to glare at the floor. “You left, honey. After Manhattan you disappeared. What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to come find me so I could have a decent shag?”

 

He grimaces, cringing away from the very vivid images of stupid handsome Ramone having a go at his wife. “Yes - no - I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He rolls away from her, yanking the blankets up over him and determinedly shutting his eyes. 

 

He can feel River’s bewildered gaze on him. “You brought it up!”

 

Voice muffled by his pillow, he retorts hotly, “Not to hear about you shagging Ramone! I’ve enough mental images of that already, thank you.”

 

“Oh don’t you dare act the betrayed husband.” She huffs, shoving at his arm hard enough to make him open his eyes and glare at her over his shoulder. “I needed someone. I needed _you_ , Doctor, but you weren’t exactly available.”

 

He sits up again with a growl, shoving aside the blankets. “I tried to be there for you, River. You wouldn’t let me.”

 

She shakes her head, pursing her lips tightly together. Under his gaze, she settles onto the edge of their bed and turns her face away from him. Her whole body is taut like a bowstring and there’s a sudden stillness in her that pinches at his hearts. They’re sitting on the same bed but the distance between them suddenly feels endless. 

 

“When exactly did you try, husband?” She asks, and her voice trembles in the quiet. “Was it when you weren’t speaking to me for days at a time? Or was it when I packed my bags and you told me not to bother coming back?”

 

The Doctor recoils, his head jerking to the side as though she’d slapped him. His breath leaves him in a rush. That last argument after Manhattan has haunted him for centuries. They’d both said terrible things in their grief but he had been cruel in a way he tries so hard to never be. So suffocating had been his shame that he’d secluded himself on a cloud over London for years, too angry and guilty to help anyone for a very long time. 

 

At the memory of it, so sharp and clear as it fills the space between he and River, the Doctor feels all of his righteous anger and jealousy melt away. His own sins are many and varied, and of a far worse nature than anything River has ever done. And yet all she has ever done is love him anyway. 

 

“You’re right,” he says, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. “I was awful.”

 

River starts, glancing over her shoulder at him in surprise. 

 

He swallows, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t even know what you’re doing here right now. I wouldn’t have blamed you for taking one look at me on the Harmony and slapping me silly - _before_ you turned me over to the headless cyborg.”

 

“ _Never_ ,” she says, and even though she’s still watching him warily, the fierce devotion in her voice forms a lump in his throat. “I was so happy to see you, my love. After Manhattan, I thought-” She pauses and when he risks a glance at her, he finds tears in her eyes. “I thought we were over.”

 

The Doctor shakes his head, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes as he rasps, “We’ll never be over, River Song.”

 

With a weak, watery laugh, River moves toward him and the Doctor follows suit. They meet in the middle of the bed, colliding like two neutron stars, a brilliant explosion as they expand and consume each other. The Doctor grasps her around the waist, tugging her roughly onto his lap as their mouths crash together. The violent eagerness of their kisses and the bruising grip of their hands on each other are in stark contrast to the sweetly murmured apologies between ragged breaths. 

 

River clings to him, her nails digging into his scalp until the Doctor fumbles between them and finds the bottom of the hoodie she wears. He pulls it over her head, leaving her bare before him. She’s beautiful and he’s never deserved her. He tells her so as he begins to kiss his way down her throat. He drags his tongue over her collarbone and dips between her breasts, scattering more apologies into her skin along the way. His hands trail up her strong thighs and over her stomach, caressing her breasts. Her nipples are already pebbled under his fingertips and, ever sensitive, River arches into his touch with a needy sigh. 

 

She takes his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t blameless, darling,” she says, and it’s only then that he realizes he’d still been murmuring _I’m sorry_ between every single kiss. “I pushed you away-”

 

“Of course you did.” He leans hungrily into her touch, kissing her palm. “That’s what you do. I should have tried harder. I should have stayed-”

 

“You’re here now.” River bumps her nose tenderly against his. “That’s what matters.”

 

“Always,” he swears. “I’m always going to be here-”

 

She cuts him off with a kiss, her clever hand dipping into the waistband of his joggers to wrap firmly around him. The Doctor swears under his breath and they don’t talk anymore after that. He rolls River beneath him and she laughs, pushing his joggers down his thighs until he can kick them to the foot of the bed. 

 

There’s no preamble after, no teasing or foreplay. River shifts her hips beneath him and the Doctor sinks into her with a strangled groan. She squeezes around him and he swears again, his hips jerking involuntarily and making them both gasp. River grips his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin, and pleads, “ _Sweetie_.”

 

He braces himself above her as he begins to move in earnest and there’s no space between them as they undulate together. Her breasts brush his chest and her fingers stroke through his wild hair. Her legs wrap tight around his waist and her curls tickle his arm. The scent of sex and her perfume mingle between them, combining to make a heady fragrance that makes him dizzy. 

 

His gaze never wavers from her - memorizing the way the green of her eyes is nearly eclipsed by her pupils, the way her cheeks flush a delicate pink and her mouth parts on a gasp every time he moves. “Mine,” he whispers, and she smiles. “My bad girl.”

 

“Yours,” she agrees, her nails scratching at the nape of his neck. “Just yours.”

 

They move languidly together in an unhurried rhythm. It’s still new for them, after an entire marriage of feeling like they’re slipping through one another’s fingers. They take their time now, the Doctor’s long, deep thrusts leaving them both gasping and clutching at each other. Their hands slip on sweat-slicked skin and though they’d silently agreed to stop apologizing, an air of contrition still lingers between them - in fleeting kisses pressed to damp skin, in the way River breathes his true name against the shell of his ear with reverence. 

 

The Doctor tangles his fingers in her hair, brushing her curls out of her eyes. “My darling wife.” He cups her jaw in his hand, his thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of her flushed cheek. “I’m yours too.”

 

River gazes up at him with soft eyes, searching his face. The adoration so clear in his expression makes her crinkle her nose in that way he loves, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with such affection. She grasps him tight around the neck, bringing his mouth down to hers for a lingering kiss in reply. She parts his lips with her tongue as the heat builds and builds between them until it’s nearly unbearable. Her legs tighten around his waist and her back arches. The angle presses her breasts tighter against him and allows him deeper inside with each roll of their hips together. 

 

She cries out, wrenching her mouth from his to gasp up at the ceiling. The Doctor grinds his teeth together, shaking with the effort of maintaining their slow, agonizing pace instead of just thrusting with abandon until they both reach the sweet bliss waiting just out of their grasps. He slips his hand between their bodies, teasing River’s clit with his fingertips until her moans echo in his ears. “Doctor, honey, _please_ …”

 

His hand still caught between them, the Doctor dips his head to press open-mouthed kisses along the exposed line of her throat. “That’s it, River,” he rasps, feeling her tremble beneath him. “That’s my girl.” Her body strains toward his and he kisses her again, soft and thorough, grounding her to him as she hurtles toward release. His cock aches as she flutters around him but he clenches his jaw and drives her higher and higher. He brushes his lips hotly against the shell of her ear. “Come for me.”

 

Her whole body goes taut at his growled command and she cries out sharply, falling over the precipice with a moan that cracks around the edges. The moment he feels her let go, the Doctor loses his tenuous grip on his self-control and tumbles right after her. His hips jerk into the blissful heat of her body, the world around him going white. He muffles a ragged groan into the hollow of her throat as he spills inside her, the furious rocking of their bodies finally reaching a shuddering crescendo. 

 

As he collapses beside her, chest heaving, he reaches out a trembling hand for hers. River grasps him tightly, lacing their fingers together as she curls her body into his. Her head finds the crook of his shoulder and her fingers splay across his chest, feeling the thundering of his hearts under her palm. The Doctor strokes her damp hair from her forehead, kissing her temple as he struggles to find the words. 

 

“Our last night was coming and I knew it,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. River tenses beside him but he doesn’t - _can’t_ \- look at her. “Scared the hell out of me. So I pushed you away. I thought it would hurt less, choosing to make you leave rather than letting time steal you away from me.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Of course, the moment you actually left I knew how wrong I was but I couldn’t go after you. I couldn’t get you back only to lose you again.”

 

River is quiet beside him but he knows she’s listening. He feels her tuck her head beneath his chin, her mouth brushing softly over his skin.

 

He breathes in, forcing his eyes open once more. “I stayed away,” he admits. “Convinced myself you were better off. That it didn’t burn like hellfire every moment away from you, letting you believe you didn’t matter to me.”

 

“Sweetie-”

 

He smiles weakly, glancing down at her. “I’ve always considered you my second wife, you know. After Gallifrey, you’re the only one that counted.” He swallows past the lump in his throat, blinking quickly, and suddenly he’s back there again - standing in the ringing silence of the TARDIS after River had walked out and left him alone. So certain he would never see her again but at least he wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Breathing in the scent of her hair, the Doctor tightens his arms around her and confesses in a whisper, “You’re the only one, River.”

 

Curled into him, River lifts a tender hand to his cheek and strokes her fingertips along his jaw. Her eyes are soft and wondering, a touch of disbelief lingering in her eyes even now. But it’s the good kind - the sort of incredulity one feels when watching a dream come to life before their eyes. 

 

“You know,” she finally says, quietly. A slow smile lifts the corners of her mouth, tinged with forgiveness and more love than he deserves. “I think I might learn to like a beard on this new face.”

 

The Doctor clings to her and laughs. 

 

-

 

Thirty minutes before the stroke of midnight, the Doctor is restless. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling for him but in the past six months he’s been living in Bristol, it has become a rare occurrence. Most days, between teaching his classes, rehabilitating Missy, and just the adventure that is full time life with River, there’s too much to do and think about to ever feel restless. But now, at a coworker’s New Year’s Eve party with River across the room entertaining a crowd that doesn’t include him, the Doctor is itching to be somewhere else. Preferably alone with his wife. 

 

His last body would have insinuated himself between River and her friends by now, distracting her and pulling her away to spirit her somewhere off-planet and more exciting. It’s tempting but this body is more content to let River have the normalcy of these small moments, chatting with work friends and counting down to midnight in the right order. He likes watching her anyway, enthralled with the way she manages to look at home no matter where she is - a prison cell, a desert planet, a ballroom in 18th century Vienna, and this tiny flat in Bristol. His wife, the chameleon. 

 

The Doctor gives her one last admiring glance before he slips from the room; taking in the elegant shimmer of her dress, the sheen of her glossy curls, her fingers curled casually around a flute of champagne, the tilt of her head and the curl of her smile as she laughs. The longing in his chest grows and grows the longer he stares, until it feels like a living thing flourishing inside of him. He feels taken over by it, like his need for her has sprouted branches and vines, spreading all through him and blooming as wildflowers - fragrant and out of control. 

 

Before he can change his mind about spiriting her away after all, the Doctor swallows and turns away. He pauses only long enough to pocket some shrimp from the buffet table - River’s kitten adores the stuff - before he wanders down the hall and climbs out the guest bedroom window, onto the fire escape. Even for late December, it’s cold as bollocks outside but the Doctor only shoves his hands into his pockets and tucks his nose into the upturned collar of his coat. 

 

Tipping back his head, he admires the distant starlight, muffled by light pollution even in this small Bristol village. There’s a pang of longing in his hearts when he gazes up, filled with all the things he misses about a life among the stars, but it’s so faint he hardly notices. His time here will be over far too soon and there will be plenty of time to knock about in his old blue box, alone and running once more. He’ll ache for these days then. He won’t waste them away wishing for a hit of adrenaline. 

 

In so many ways, he envies his younger self. He’d been a miser when it came to his wife, hoarding his time with no idea at all that he had so much. A blind king feasting on breadcrumbs when there was a banquet laid out before him. With each day that passes, the Doctor is more and more aware that there will come a day when the table will lay empty. And he knows with certainty that when the time comes, he will starve. 

 

He casts his eyes away from the stars then, a quiet flutter of panic in his chest at the thought of this time ending. It will, of course. Everything - good and bad - always does. It has been a very long time since he has had anything worth losing and this fleeting glimpse of a normal life with River is sometimes more happiness than he can bear. It’s a gift and a curse - so much time stretched out before them but a countdown always ticking away in the back of his mind. A voice whispering _not today but soon. Not today, but soon._

 

“You’ll spoil him, you know.”

 

He turns at the sound of her voice, the dreariness of his thoughts fading at the sight of her leaning out the window. River always did have that effect, chasing away the monsters under the bed with a torch and a daring grin. He arches an inquisitive brow at her, watching as she slips soundlessly onto the fire escape. She makes much less racket than he had but he supposes his bespoke assassin has had plenty of practice. 

 

“Gandalf,” she finally explains, joining him at the railing. “I saw you nick the shrimp.”

 

He frowns. “And how do you know I didn’t eat it myself?” Without breaking eye contact, River sighs and reaches for his coat pocket, slipping her hand inside. When she pulls out a handful of breaded shrimp, he huffs. “I was…saving it. For when I’m feeling peckish.”

 

River smirks. 

 

“All right, fine,” he says, snatching the shrimp back from her and tucking it away. “But you’ve no room to talk. Unless you liberated that bottle of champagne from the pantry for yourself.” With a triumphant glance, he reaches for her clutch purse - bigger on the inside, of course - and pulls out the bottle in question. 

 

She lifts her chin. “And what if I did?”

 

He doesn’t back down. “Then you’d have opened it by now.”

 

Blushing lightly, River plucks the bottle from his grasp and slides it back into her purse. “She’s had a good week,” she defends, resting the bag on the windowsill. “I thought she might enjoy a bit of bubbly.”

 

Before they’d gone to the party for the evening, they’d asked Missy if she’d rather have some company to ring in the new year but she’d openly scoffed at the human tradition and mocked them for thinking she’d care about such things. Clearly, River hadn’t been entirely fooled. While he knows his wife deals with Missy mostly for his sake he also knows that in some small way, River has grown to care for his friend entirely separate from what she means to him. And he rather loves her for it. 

 

Ducking his head, he brushes a kiss against her cheek. “Thank you.”

 

Cheeks still a little pink, River leans on the railing beside him. She snuggles closer in the frigid December air, seeking his body heat. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, keeping her flush against him. “What are you doing out here?” She asks, her head on his shoulder. “It’s almost time.”

 

The Doctor hums his agreement. “Just wanted a bit of quiet.”

 

Turning her head, River glances up at him sharply.

 

“What?” He asks, bristling. “I can enjoy quiet.”

 

“Of course you can, darling,” she says delicately, as though soothing a child. She pats his chest and he sighs. “But a New Year’s Eve party isn’t usually the time to go looking for it.”

 

He shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe I was hoping you’d follow me.”

 

River blinks at him in surprise, a smile curling her mouth. “I’ll always follow you.”

 

The Doctor grins down at her, eyes softening. “Not to be a realist when you’re trying to be sentimental, dear, but it’s usually the other way round.”

 

“Mm, and don’t you forget it.” She kisses him, her lips warm against his cheek. “Any particular reason you lured me out here?” She lowers her voice to that teasing drawl that always settles heat right in his groin. “Hoping for a go on the fire escape?”

 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he fights off a blush. This body doesn’t succumb to embarrassment easily but River is brilliant at reducing him to the color of a tomato anyway. Casting his eyes over the city, he takes in all the houses lit up inside, the sound of muffled music and laughter. It feels like that first night at the Towers all over again, an end and a beginning all wrapped up together. 

 

Reaching into his inner coat pocket, the Doctor pulls out a sturdy, yellow leather book. Stroking his thumb over the butter soft cover, he avoids River’s curious eyes and confesses, “I wanted to give you this. Actually, I wanted to give it to you at Christmas but it wasn’t quite finished yet.”

 

River goes still beside him, staring it. “Is this-”

 

“A new diary,” he confirms, watching her take it slowly from him with trembling hands. He swallows, his throat feeling like sandpaper as he tries to explain. “When we were on the Harmony, you said you were running out of pages. That you thought it meant our story was ending. But it isn’t and I never meant for you to-” His breath stalls, watching River stroke reverent fingertips across the binding. “I thought perhaps this adventure deserved a separate book of its own.”

 

She’s quiet for a long moment. Inside the flat, the countdown to the new year begins. 

 

Watching River’s eyes fill up with tears, the Doctor feels panic claw up his dry throat. He curses inwardly. Trust him to bugger up something as simple as giving his wife a gift. “The pattern matches your other one,” he explains, talking as he always does to cover his anxiety. “But I thought you might like a different color to tell them apart. And that shade of yellow always makes me think of your hair. And sunsets. And those flecks of gold in your eyes-” 

 

River purses trembling lips together and he flinches. 

 

“I wrote an inscription on the inside,” he says, hoping to make her smile. 

 

She thumbs carefully through the thick pages, stopping when she sees his handwriting on the inside cover. Her eyes scan the circular Gallifreyan once, twice, three times. Still, she says nothing. He can hear her breath trembling in the night air and when a tear slips down her cheek and splashes against the page, the Doctor shut his eyes. 

 

Inside, the cheerful countdown reaches _five_. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, opening his eyes to gaze at her imploringly. “I didn’t meant to upset you. I just thought-”

 

_Four_. 

 

River lifts her head, finally tearing her gaze away from the diary. The sheer sweetness of her expression stalls the rest of his apology in his throat. A slow, breathtaking smile lights up her face and he swears even the stars above them burn brighter right along with her. She clutches the diary to her chest, her knuckles white. “You beautiful idiot,” she whispers. 

 

He blinks at her. “Is it…all right then?”

 

_Three_. 

 

She sniffles, looking up at him with shining eyes. “It’s perfect.”

 

_Two_.

 

Wilting in relief, the Doctor grins widely. “Oh.” He sways toward her, lost in the happiness he finds in her eyes and the tears still clinging to her lashes. “Good.”

 

_One_. 

 

River wraps a hand around the back of his neck and arches up on her toes, the diary pressed snugly between them as she kisses him. The Doctor winds his arms around her waist, pressing his hands into her back as he cradles her to him. She melts into him, letting him hold her up. A sigh slips from her mouth and her lips part beneath his, soft and hot. She tastes faintly of champagne and salt. He groans, tugging her impossibly closer. Cheers echo around them like a chorus as the new year dawns but he barely notices. The only thought in his head other than River is the words of Tennyson. 

 

_Ring out the thousand wars of old, ring in the thousand years of peace._

 

He parts from River only when she needs to breathe, letting her pull away to gasp into the hollow of his throat. She clings to him, her eyes shut and a content, breathless smile curling her mouth. The Doctor sways in place with her, brushing his nose against the shell of her ear as he whispers what he’d written inside the diary. Words meant only for her - quiet and precious and long overdue. 

 

He feels River beam into the collar of his coat, her warm chuckle a soft puff of air against his neck. “I love you too, darling.”

 

They linger outside a little longer, pressed together for warmth as the party carries on inside without them. River clutches her new diary in one hand and his fingers in the other. As the stars twinkle above them, the Doctor thinks on that old human adage about how whatever they’re doing at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve foretells what they’ll be doing for the rest of the year. 

 

He turns his face into River’s curls, kissing her temple. His hearts full of lightness and warmth, he gazes out at the town spread out beneath them and hopes the start of the next nine hundred and ninety-nine New Years are exactly like this one. 


End file.
